Being Present
I wrote a short post about this on MDC but decided to elaborate here:
I loved having toddlers and preschoolers around. I think the vast majority of us reach a point in our lives where the underlying goal we all have is to Get Through It, which is not a bad motivation really but it also doesn't fit well with stopping to smell the roses, so to speak.
Having small children around forces you to stop and smell the roses. And watch that plane until it is out of sight. And crouch down and look at that bug. And pet the moss on that tree. And taste the ocean water even though it is nauseatingly salty. Then taste it again to be sure. Having small children forces you to be present in the moment and be hyper-aware of what is going on around you.
I have always loved to go hiking or just walking trails through trees and meadows or along the beach. Anywhere, so long as it is outdoors and I can smell the fresh air and feel the breeze on my face. It feels cleansing and refreshing, filling me with a peace and contentedness that I feel in few other places. After I had children, I couldn't wait to share this with them and show them the beauty of our world; little did I know how much more important their lesson to me would prove.
Taking a toddler on a walk through the redwoods is an enlightening experience. I remember wanting to get to the end of the trail and show my daughter the big hollowed out redwood at the end that we could crawl inside and even I could stand upright in. My daughter, however, had other plans. She wanted to stop and trace her finger over the number on every wooden sign post. She had to touch every branch and twig within her grasp. Every tiny puddle left over from the rains begged to be splashed in; the soft mulch carpeting the trail needed to be felt with hands as well as feet; the banana slug we encountered required naming and adventures made up for it before we could progress. What should have been a 20-30 minute walk became a slow procession taking a couple hours. I don't remember if we even made it to the end of the trail that day.
What I do remember is the simultaneous feelings of frustration and wonder that this little child and her method of hiking inspired in me. My adult self was just itching to move on, to reach the goal, to stop stopping at every little thing. But I was also in awe at the things she noticed, things that I had never bothered to see even though I had walked this trail probably a hundred times. I decided her way was better.
I have decided that our children are so much better at seeing than we are. What we can walk right past and dismiss as unremarkable, they will notice and they will find every new detail utterly amazing. Young children live in the moment. They don't worry much about the mistakes they made yesterday or what will happen tomorrow. They are about the here and now. Being present.
And my three children helped nurture this constant awareness of The Present in me. Now, when we walk I am as likely as them to notice a newly blooming flower, a beautiful seashell, a previously unseen pattern in the bark of a familiar tree. And now that they are a little older, increasingly it is me that notices and calls them back to see.
I see my children growing and developing that move forward, cover ground, reach the end of the trail mentality when we hike. They are forever vying for the lead position, practically racing to be the first one, to be able to say they made it to the end. But they are starting to race past the beauty, the startling little details, the things only small children notice. They are starting to race past the moment, skipping over the present in their quest for the next moment.
I could follow their lead and just be glad that finally we are able to make an hour hike happen in an hour or that we are able to hike a mile without having to stop and start a hundred different times. The problem is that now when we are steadily walking, I see those little things, the striking details, as they pass and I am sad that we no longer stop to appreciate them all. I can't stop seeing the things that I know would delight a three year old even though I no longer have a three year old to delight. It is not as easy to delight an older child with a pretty leaf.
But I keep trying. I keep calling them back from down the trail to look at this new bunch of mushrooms that shot up since the rain, to stop and listen to the creek rushing over the rocks, to breathe in the scent of sun-warmed redwoods. And they do. They stop and take notice, if only briefly. And if I can instill in them an appreciation of what is going on around them right now, right here, hopefully they will always be able to see the moment and not worry about the past or future for a little while. Hopefully they will always be able to enjoy being present.
I loved having toddlers and preschoolers around. I think the vast majority of us reach a point in our lives where the underlying goal we all have is to Get Through It, which is not a bad motivation really but it also doesn't fit well with stopping to smell the roses, so to speak.
Having small children around forces you to stop and smell the roses. And watch that plane until it is out of sight. And crouch down and look at that bug. And pet the moss on that tree. And taste the ocean water even though it is nauseatingly salty. Then taste it again to be sure. Having small children forces you to be present in the moment and be hyper-aware of what is going on around you.
I have always loved to go hiking or just walking trails through trees and meadows or along the beach. Anywhere, so long as it is outdoors and I can smell the fresh air and feel the breeze on my face. It feels cleansing and refreshing, filling me with a peace and contentedness that I feel in few other places. After I had children, I couldn't wait to share this with them and show them the beauty of our world; little did I know how much more important their lesson to me would prove.
Taking a toddler on a walk through the redwoods is an enlightening experience. I remember wanting to get to the end of the trail and show my daughter the big hollowed out redwood at the end that we could crawl inside and even I could stand upright in. My daughter, however, had other plans. She wanted to stop and trace her finger over the number on every wooden sign post. She had to touch every branch and twig within her grasp. Every tiny puddle left over from the rains begged to be splashed in; the soft mulch carpeting the trail needed to be felt with hands as well as feet; the banana slug we encountered required naming and adventures made up for it before we could progress. What should have been a 20-30 minute walk became a slow procession taking a couple hours. I don't remember if we even made it to the end of the trail that day.
What I do remember is the simultaneous feelings of frustration and wonder that this little child and her method of hiking inspired in me. My adult self was just itching to move on, to reach the goal, to stop stopping at every little thing. But I was also in awe at the things she noticed, things that I had never bothered to see even though I had walked this trail probably a hundred times. I decided her way was better.
I have decided that our children are so much better at seeing than we are. What we can walk right past and dismiss as unremarkable, they will notice and they will find every new detail utterly amazing. Young children live in the moment. They don't worry much about the mistakes they made yesterday or what will happen tomorrow. They are about the here and now. Being present.
And my three children helped nurture this constant awareness of The Present in me. Now, when we walk I am as likely as them to notice a newly blooming flower, a beautiful seashell, a previously unseen pattern in the bark of a familiar tree. And now that they are a little older, increasingly it is me that notices and calls them back to see.
I see my children growing and developing that move forward, cover ground, reach the end of the trail mentality when we hike. They are forever vying for the lead position, practically racing to be the first one, to be able to say they made it to the end. But they are starting to race past the beauty, the startling little details, the things only small children notice. They are starting to race past the moment, skipping over the present in their quest for the next moment.
I could follow their lead and just be glad that finally we are able to make an hour hike happen in an hour or that we are able to hike a mile without having to stop and start a hundred different times. The problem is that now when we are steadily walking, I see those little things, the striking details, as they pass and I am sad that we no longer stop to appreciate them all. I can't stop seeing the things that I know would delight a three year old even though I no longer have a three year old to delight. It is not as easy to delight an older child with a pretty leaf.
But I keep trying. I keep calling them back from down the trail to look at this new bunch of mushrooms that shot up since the rain, to stop and listen to the creek rushing over the rocks, to breathe in the scent of sun-warmed redwoods. And they do. They stop and take notice, if only briefly. And if I can instill in them an appreciation of what is going on around them right now, right here, hopefully they will always be able to see the moment and not worry about the past or future for a little while. Hopefully they will always be able to enjoy being present.