Jumping Jacks

I was driving down the road this morning when I noticed a group of kindergarten kids in front of their school, perhaps for a special Saturday gathering or a field trip. One girl in particular stood out to me. At 7:45 in the morning, she was doing jumping jacks with abandon, her long blond hair rising and falling, nearly translucent in the morning sun, at its peak a halo, at its depth a canvas for her face and the open smile that was painted thereon.

I was listening to a song on the radio (Alice, by Cocteau Twins) with the windows up, and the moment was encapsulated in music, the melodies of the piano freezing the gears of time itself. I couldn’t hear the little girl, but the vision of her joy was so complete that the rules of the five senses didn't apply. By that I mean that I could see her laughter. I really could. It was a beautiful thing. It reminded me of Sophia, my own little six year old angel back home, whom I’d kissed goodbye on her forehead on my way to get coffee, and the way that she, too, can find joy in most anything, at any time.

As we grow up we seem to lose that penchant for joy, the simpleness of it, the release of it. Instead we become thinkers. We learn contemplation instead of exultation. Psychologically, as we age I think we become the canaries in our own coal mines, instead of the free birds we were meant to be.

I could expound on what I think we should do about this, but why bother? It’s simple really. We just need to remember to do our jumping jacks each day.

I’m going to go do mine right now : ) How ‘bout you?