Recursive Words

What is the “right” age to act? What if the most authentic version of “you” is still a little bit… sticky-fingered and prone to spontaneous laughter?

It strikes me that refusing to grow up isn’t about throwing tantrums, or asking for a juice box at a formal dinner party (though, let’s be honest, sometimes the urge is strong) – it’s a deeper, more profound commitment to a certain way of navigating the world. It’s about a refusal to let cynicism set like concrete – to keep the doors labeled “wonder” and “curiosity” unlocked and open – even when the world tries its best to slam them shut.

Think about it. When you were young, a cardboard box wasn’t just a box. It was a spaceship. It was a fort. It was a time machine. The possibilities were limited only by the boundless expanse of your imagination.

A child doesn’t looking at an obstacle and see a problem – rather they question how the obstacle might become part of the unfolding game – or ignored entirely en-route to something far more interesting.

It’s about the willingness to be surprised and delighted.

It’s about finding joy in the smallest of things: a perfectly shaped cloud, a sudden downpour, the shape of a cast shadow.

It’s about uninhibited laughter that bubbles up from deep inside, unrestrained by social norms or the perceived need to maintain a sophisticated facade.

It’s about singing loudly and off-key in the kitchen while doing chores – because, well, why not?
It’s not just about the frivolous.

Being young also means retaining an unabashed vulnerability – and the capacity to exhibit unbridled emotion – to get genuinely excited about anything, and to share sadness and loss without pause.

It’s about the readiness to learn, to ask “why?”, and to admit you don’t know.