I have a temper.
I’m not always nice.
I’m not always honest.
Sometimes I lose my patience and yell.
Sometimes I’m difficult to be around.
I even read this post about how to write 50 compliments. I thought great idea. I tried. It’s in my draft box. Couldn’t do it. I just can’t because today I’m not my own best friend.
The child in me is asking for help.
If I could only be young again! If I could only be innocent again. There’s that song going on in my head When September Ends and it says innocence can never last. Would you like know why?
That darn thing called knowledge has to peak it’s little head and ruin the fun for everyone.
The begs the question if it is better to just dig your head in the sand and not know anything. Happy go lucky carefree days of youth. Swoosh. Gone.
Now real life sets in.
I had a long talk today with a friend of mine, Sofia. When I mean long, I mean about two hours over lunch. She inspired me unbelievably. We talked about politics, classes, teachers, we even joked. We talked about art and music. We helped each other out.
Here’s the catch. This girl was nine. That’s why I love youth. That’s why I believe in our future.
I mean it. I was stunned. I showed her one of my paintings on my cell phone and she said it rivaled Van Gogh. She says to me, you know, I like it because it isn’t all perfect and straight.
I asked her what her plans for life are. She has it pretty much figured out. First plan was to marry Justin Bieber. If that fails, she’s marrying rich. If that fails she says she’s going into politics.
I ask her why? She says because she wants to make the world a better place.
Makes my overwhelmed state of life seem so silly. Why do grown ups mess everything up? We talked so long about education and the importance of learning. I taught her how to do her multiples of nine on her hands. I taught her what Chinese Math is by singing and learning by singing. I taught her how to count her seasons on her knuckles.
I admire her.
And she me, I believe. It’s friendship.
I notice how people’s friends all sort of look alike. I mean, my best girlfriends and I are almost equal in height, coloring, etc. Same with my husband’s, sister’s, children’s, etc.
What I think is special is when you cross those boundries and the old man and the
young child hold hands. How black meets white. How a homeless can talk with a rich person and share their experiences hoping to make this world a better place.
I know I’m a dreamer. Aren’t we all to some extent? I just wish life were more simple. Too many problems to begin listing them. I am just thankful I have an outlet through writing, through walking, through painting, through participating, through helping and through friendships.
In the meantime, as always I hope post finds you lovely, lucky and in love.