I love watching children who have kept the magic alive themselves. I don’t mean adult inflicted magic, like Santa Claus, and Elf on the Shelf, but when kids are still very much enchanted by life and what is going on around them.
I had the pleasure this week of seeing a young man turn ten. He was so endearing in the way that he wanted to hold fast to and extract and savour every last ounce of his 9th year before the day he turned ten.
This is the last day I eat a ham sandwich while I am 9.
This is the last day I play basketball while I am 9.
I am so sad I overslept today, because there are less hours in my day to enjoy being 9.
He isn’t my child, but I am still amused and tickled by the way he wants to squeeze out of his 9th year every last experience and moment.
It made me think about how I need to be more like that.
This is my 45th year, this is the last and the first time I will be 45. What does that mean for me?
How is that different to any other year that has gone before and any year that comes after?
I don’t know, but I love the way this young man cherished those moments, and it has inspired me to think like he does.
To value the days, to mark them, and to count them in such a way that it adds extra meaning to my life.
Not to take them for granted, but to be mindful of what they offer me.
I love it when children teach me about life, it is such a precious gift.
Happy birthday young man!