Breaking news ~ It’s your life on your terms, state of mind. Children are the cornerstone of connectivity to our enlightenment. They remind and represent that dandy developing era of ages wherein we’re eventually seeking to not be so sought for overripe nurturing. Why clicking to every consent of grownups often wears an unfashionable stench or hue. When entitlement becomes our talisman for a period (which many a parental wishes they could evade). We’re merely looking to rise on our own clocks, instead of your sun’s horizontal mambo. I think that everyone is born with innate intelligence. Only to be coerced into birthing varied types of systemic societal brunt. But, oh, the delicious agency of youth! Our in utero auspices can garner us doctrine to last all future days. Forever promoting their best defenses from inappropriate adulting in their way.
What if I told you that your damage
doesn’t define you and the way you survive
is no one else’s damned business? ~Nikita Gill, Question The Fairytale, from Fierce Fairytales: Poems & Stories to Stir Your Soul
Just because we’re able ought not be synonymous with should. Although caregivers will have quite useful disciplinary to educational expectations, I’ve progressively adjusted to the untamed listening of my younger self, plus enough from those who are my junior, as the years venture to trip hurriedly past the channels of that former safely-at-ease self. As well, there’s not always happiness within that medium cliché. Motto’s aren’t meant to be these lofty legs up in life too far out of our reaches. They’re punctuated to catch onto you. Stress less ~ Play more. You know you’re soaring by virtue that it’s not a bore. Scores are better experientially than on papers or boards. Such sanities I’ve absorbed hanging around minors who’ve gifted me major effects. Lady liberty is the first babe I shall encourage anyone to date. Swilling a spot of time with family youngsters solidifies that skill.
Advocacy aches for the comfort of its own education. Maybe you practice the torpedo of lazing until it’s yelled away from you. How briskly the embers of our juvenile budding are wont to synchronously cling and to flee. It’s a stereotyped enigma of praying to be older and maintaining your hipster haunches. It’s exceedingly easy to spoil someone in both harmful to helpful capacities along this tread. Yet the elasticity of offspring forecasts spans of survivalists. Hereby, whenever I’ve jogged circles in circles instead of to the point, logging unnecessary flogging, I remember the fertile underground from which I came. Beneath the system of simply being lies a ring of swanky bravado. A place that’s a mental position compared to a physical space. Where you deposit discovery at the rate your seniors would rather you input at a bank.
You stub a toe, slice open your shin, avert the (home)work assignment, ditch the dummy snubbing their nose above your tone of indifference, and find a win buried behind the pillow at the bottom of your bedroom cave. Pillage that panic can be a power move. While bravery is the keenest sword you’d ever want to wield. Sharing (this whole planet) is an iffy spiral we’re eternally learning to navigate. Trusting in the prophecy of your (or that you even have) attitudinal good graces needn’t be an existential race. However, for all sakes (ahem, especially current flounderers on the fulcrum of adulthood), I’ll animatedly err on the side of adolescence’s sheer abandon. The sacrifice with which they refuse liberally offers airs of impulsivity royalty. They are the hearty relief rebels our communities forget are indispensably ideal traits.
Fully downloading kid-speak might seem as implausible as draining hope from exaggerated moping. It’s pretty quirky our constancy for the advisory notification: Don’t take yourselves so seriously. Nonetheless, do stake real-world issues with utter jubilation. If you’ve been bankrupt of laughter, the sooner you relapse with a little teen to toddler spirit usually does the trick. Therein, is built the hierarchy monarchy of our personal sovereignty. Feel me cheering on every one of your wakings as if your birthday welcoming thesis. Wherein your interpretation for thumbs-raised temperament assuredly comprehends punk’s not dead as culturally as you roll the ‘religions’ of any elder behaviors. These are the cosmos codes taught to us for at least as long as stars did twinkle. Where misfits make out as millionaires and merry-go-rounds are your zones of genius. This homage to letting the prudence of students level you faithfully.
May we never outlive our childlike wisdom.