Lessons from my Kids

This morning as I dropped my six year old son off to school, I stayed in the car to watch him on his way. His long skinny legs meandering slowly through the school gates. His big red bag huddled over both shoulders, his hat looked so smart, he reminded me of a mini Anzac soldier.

He wanders into the schoolyard without a care in the world. Bigger kids wander past him loudly. He is unphased. He crouches down on the ground to get a better look at an army of ants surrounding a big, dead  bug. His water bottle rolls out of his bag and he chases it, then returns to the bug.

Oblivious that I was there, just watching, just loving. Witnessing the person that he is.

My daughter returns from her bedroom with a select pile of books. She places them up on the lounge chair. She climbs up next to them ready to devour. She’s three, and can’t yet read but knows all of the stories by heart. Sometimes she is a teacher, reading to her ‘pretend children’. Other times she simply reads them aloud, letting the pictures trigger the words of the stories she loves.

I watch, in awe of her ability to be engrossed completely in her world .

I am delighted listening to her nail the stories word for word.

She doesn’t know that I am there, just watching, just loving.

It is often in these moments of being a quiet observer that I feel the most love for my kids. They radiate beauty, and they don’t even know it.

They are just being themselves, following their curiosity and joy.

It comes naturally, and has since birth. They are not trying to be anything except themselves. Egos aren’t at play.

Somewhere on the journey from being a kid to adulthood we lose a lot of this ability. We become slaves to time, to-do lists, the Jones’ and following our curiosity and joy becomes an indulgence, a frivolous waste of time, and shit, is that the time, we are going to be late!!!

To do something, just for fun carries with it a sense of guilt, time that could have been better spent picking up shoes off the floor that will go back onto the floor in ten minutes.

Before we know it we get more and more oblivious to the dead bugs and the army of ants, and our pretend audience of children has long withered away.

When I look at my children, absolutely present in their moments, I long to be like them.  I want to climb up the tree and peep in the birds nest, I want to spy on the ants and see where they are going, I want to roll from one end of the lounge room to the other. Many times I do. More than often I become impatient and tell them to hurry up, or stop what they are doing – we have to get to the next thing.

What I am learning is that the ‘next thing’ never arrives. The moment really is where it is at.

While I know this, living it can be a real challenge. This is why I find it so beautiful just to watch with awe my children who have this ability well and truly down pat. I want to wrap them up in cotton wool and never, ever let the world take this gift away from them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Reminder From A Feather

I was waiting in the beautiful gardens of a winery to have a meeting with a client some months ago. I took it as a rare opportunity to sit, and simply breathe in the present moment.

As I looked up high I noticed a single feather making it’s journey down.

I didn’t see the bird that it dropped from, but I was mesmerised by the slow and beautiful way it drifted side to side as it made it’s way down to the ground.

I felt moved to photograph it. It was so graceful and unhurried. It’s white colour illuminated by the blue sky surrounding it.

I was struck by the beauty of that moment and felt somehow that it was significant.

Then, my client showed up and I was whisked back into the hustle of the everyday.

Later on, I met up with my parents who were in town visiting. We enjoyed a lovely lunch together.

Afterwards, as we wandered through the town, my Dad received a phone call. It was news that he had expected, his beloved brother had passed away. He had been ill for some time.

I felt the enormity of his pain. I wished desperately that I could ease it somehow.

My mind took me back to the feather. The drifting feather that I had watched slowly, yet gracefully float to the ground.

I was almost sure that this, in my rare moment of being present, was symbolic of my Uncle’s passing.

Knowing my Dad wasn’t likely to share the same slightly woo-woo beliefs, I showed him the photo that I had taken – and told him I thought that it was a sign.

I’m sure he received the photo with the intention with which I showed him.

To me, the feather served as a reminder of our journey. That we, and all of nature share the same destiny.

Perhaps in sad times of love and loss we can take comfort in the natural world. Actively seeking out the grace and beauty can remind us that we are all simply floating, gently and beautifully, back to the Earth.

xx WITH MUCH LOVE, RIP UNCLE PAUL xx –

Have you ever been comforted by nature? Love to hear your experience.