There is something wonderful about a child walking through a shopping centre wearing an eyepatch and carrying a bag of fake treasure coins.
No costume party. No special occasion.
They woke up, decided they were a pirate, and went about their day.
They don’t stop at the entrance and ask, “Is this a bit much?” They don’t worry that someone from school might see them. They certainly don’t wonder whether being a pirate aligns with their personal brand.
There is treasure to find. The adults can carry on buying washing powder.
I love that.
Children have this beautiful ability to throw themselves into life. They dance when there is music. They ask questions the rest of us are too embarrassed to ask. They get wildly excited about a puddle, a beetle, or a stick that happens to be an excellent sword.
And for a little while, before they become too aware of everyone watching, they let us see exactly who they are.
Then, somewhere along the way, we start teaching them to tone it down.
Be sensible. Don’t make a scene. That looks silly. What will people think?
Of course, growing up requires learning how to live with other people. Kindness matters. Responsibility matters. You can’t spend your entire life threatening to make the cashier walk the plank.
But I wonder how much joy we lose while learning to be acceptable.
How often do we put something back on the shelf because it feels too colourful, too playful, too unlike what people expect of us? How many things would we try if we weren’t so worried about looking foolish while being beginners?
Eventually, nobody even needs to tell us to behave.
We do it to ourselves.
We become very good at being appropriate. We know what to wear, what to say, and which parts of ourselves to keep tucked away. Yet sometimes, beneath all that careful presentation, there is still a child who would quite like to dance.
I think about that when I look at adults, too.
The stern man in the queue. The exhausted parent. The person in the expensive suit who seems to have everything figured out.
Every one of them was once a small child discovering the world. Someone who laughed uncontrollably, needed a hug, and believed an ordinary afternoon could turn into an adventure.
Life will give us enough reasons to be serious. We don’t need to volunteer every remaining moment.
Wear the thing you love. Sing in the car. Try something you might be terrible at. Get on the floor and enter your child’s imaginary world without checking your phone halfway through.
Let yourself enjoy something without needing it to be productive, impressive, or worth posting.
We were all children once.
I hope we keep a little space for that child as we grow older. A little curiosity. A little silliness. The willingness to be delighted by something small.
And, every now and then, the courage to leave the house with our imaginary eyepatch on.
Thanks for taking a moment to slow down with me this week.
Simon 🤟
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