Our inner children

No matter how old we get, our inner child is visible. For example, I teach fourth year undergraduate business classes, and most of the students are in their 20's. Some are older; very few are younger. Yet, when these students write a test, I see their kindergarten selves. Some lean sideways on the desk, head on elbow, writing with great concentration. Others daydream. They look left, they look right, they look at their nails. One girl shuts out the world, putting in earplugs and wearing a big bucket hat. And most, just look young and beautiful.

I see my own inner child when I snowplow. I have skied since I was young and my hands cock up as if directing my feet when I do wedge turns. When I teach young children to ski, I see the same phenomenon. Their shoulders and arms try to orchestrate the movement of the legs. I saw my mother's inner child when I said good-bye to her a few weeks before her death. She was lying peacefully on her bed and I looked at her and did not see pale, jaundiced skin covered in wrinkles but babysoft skin and innocence.

Our inner children are all beautiful. They are who we are. Our children represent potential, hope, and the future. As I grow older, I see wrinkles forming on my face and I witness my own reactions, often not based on what just happened, but on what happened years ago when I was just a child. This is one reason why being in the present is so vital to my well-being. I have learned to be kind to my inner child and am glad that she is still there, not grown up. She is able to see the wonder of life and feel the sadness that life also brings. As I grow older, I see another part of me developing, a wiser older woman, but there is still that child-like part of me that loves kindergarten, that cocks her wrists as she snowplows and cries easily in both joy and grief.

I started this blog entry before Christmas and today, two days after, my sympathies are with the family and close friends of a young man. A 25 year old ski instructor, blessed with one of the best smiles in the world and a passion for skiing, died after hitting a tree while skiing a powder run on a mountain resort that had just opened. I find that I am recalling moments with him, and in every moment, it is his smile that I see. It was infectious and joyous and the light of his smile will shine onward.

Namaste,
Ginny