The first thing our three year old son, Milo-Milodeus, said this morning as he was peering out from our bedroom, "Pop. I was just looking out the window. It's so beautiful outside."
And here I thought I was supposed to be teaching him how to live large.
Alas, in response, I thought, “Actually, it’s kind of overcast..”
Ugh. The contrasting POVs was a poignant reminder that every once in a while we must be reminded to shun our tainted perspective as adults and embrace things simply as they are and not how we (over)think them to be— skewed by our anxious agendas, the fears of what is or is not to come or disappointingly never was.
Albeit I risk banging on the drum of an old cliché, my son’s words at sunrise summarize an important chapter of a bestselling memoir I wrote ten years ago. It is not until now, after two marriages, almost 50 years and 5 children, that I realize that it was and is perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned, if only because it belies another maxim, if youth is wasted on the young, wisdom is wasted on the old. Perhaps.
And perhaps it is a child’s perspective that intertwines the two.
Here is an excerpt from that ever-important chapter of 25 Lessons I’ve Learned about Photography…Life!
Lesson 4: Take the Long Way Home
No matter where you live or work or go, there are treasures to be found everywhere. We only have to make an effort to look for them; sometimes it is simply a matter of opening our eyes and senses to see the beauty that envelopes our daily lives.
A good way of achieving this is by trying to see the world through a child’s eyes. To do so, you must let go of all the things you must do, and simply explore without an agenda, without the compulsion to keep track of time and place, without a care to divert you away from appreciating all the glorious details of the environment that glimmers around you.
On occasion, we must remind ourselves to think and run and play as freely as we once did, when we were kids, when, as children, we often took the long way home or spun in circles and made odd noises until we got so dizzy that we could no longer stand up straight, so that we spilled ourselves silly onto the grass, and with our arms splayed apart we watched the clouds congeal into giant animal crackers up above, until we caught our breath and our equilibrium again—if only, so that we could do it all over again without a second thought as to how sick we might feel afterward.
I am fortunate to be a father of two wonderful boys who inspire me on a daily basis in this manner. As much as parents serve to guide their little ones via their own errors and experience, children likewise serve to prompt us to let go every once in a while, so that we might truly enjoy and appreciate life. Watching my sons play, I am constantly reminded that kids get in trouble mostly because their organic way of being does not naturally fit into the rigid outline of an adult agenda imposed upon them.
For a number of reasons, I am particularly fond of a photo I once took of my youngest, Dominic, when we were crossing the bridge one late afternoon from Lambertville, NJ to New Hope PA. Not only do the spray of the sunshine, the two levels of depth with the railing to the left and bridge frame to the right and the shadows cast—cumulatively make a richly textured picture, but my son's rattling of fingers against the rail reminds me to "relax."
For the first thing I thought when I saw him doing this was, "You’re going to dirty your hands, son!" Immediately realizing how inane my worries were, I let him be and let myself enjoy the moment.
Reviewing photos of my children often reminds me of the adage that, indeed, our little ones become big ones all too soon. It is impossible to over-appreciate every minute of their blossoming, especially when, as adults, we are so eager to regain that blissful state of ignorance and freedom.
Ironically enough, it is the inherent qualities of a child that lead us to the wisdom we often seek as adults. “Wisdom begins with wonder,” Confucius once said. Thus, it is through my boys that I am often reminded that it is curiosity that puts us on the path toward such enlightenment.
Far too often, as adults, we forfeit the precious traits that are inherent in us as children—all in the name of fear, conservation, propriety and apathy.
And often for good reason.
But just as often, we do not risk enough, we are not willing to step out of our safety zone, to try something new, to just waste time in the name of frivolity—to take the long way home.
As a result of succumbing to the requisite pragmatism of adulthood, we stay stagnant, we diminish our potential, we stop growing, and we proceed down the straight and narrow path until we become bored and unhappy.
This is why we need to nudge ourselves off the road every once in a while, to take a detour without fearing to get lost. If anything, we must welcome the opportunity to see new things, meet new people, have adventures, and most importantly, learn.
And by learning, grow wiser via youthful ignorance, precocious restlessness and relentless inquisition about this and that, and this again.
