Jan 7, 2024 (Medum.com)
31 December 2023
Delicious dishes are cooked in the kitchen. Fragrant scents fill the living room. Guests enjoy the perfumed aromas. The family is together. The mood is festive.
The children put on their best smiles. Joy seems unable to leave their faces. They’re happy. Happy to be here. Happy to be living a unique moment in a child’s life.
Seeing one of them smile more than the others, I remember what a little boy I was. How I was just as excited about the upcoming holiday season.
It was an event in my life. For months, I’d been thinking about it. The moments I was going to experience. The great meals I was going to eat. The gifts I would receive.
This excitement was for the end of the year, but also birthdays. My youngest birthdays were unforgettable moments that are still vivid. (A reminder that I should make my children experience unforgettable birthdays, these memories are so important.)
The child I was knew how to savor the magic of these precious days.
Then I got older. The little boy grew up. And as the years went by, the excitement waned.
Maybe I was thrown into the adult world too quickly. Responsibilities piled up on my shoulders. I lost some of that magic at lightning speed.
It’s hard to pinpoint why the magic no longer works.
Age? Perhaps.
Responsibilities? Perhaps.
Loss of innocence? Perhaps.
The cycle of life? Who knows?
Life offers magic, but also brutality. And once you’ve tasted the extremes of both spectrums, the magic becomes less magical.
The loss of your inner child could be harmless. I could think about it and forget. But I don’t. There’s something scary about it. If even the magic of wonder can be lost over the years, I’m in great danger.
What if all the magic of life slips away from me?
What if there comes a point where I can’t marvel at anything anymore?
The thought of that old uncle frightens me. He doesn’t do anything anymore. The only way to know that he’s alive is to check his pulse. Nothing excites him. He spends days watching TV. Screwed to his chair as if he’s immovable. Armed with an unbreakable poker face.
I try to tell him: “You could do anything with all that time.”
To which his eyes seem to reply: “It’s when I have all this time that I don’t feel like doing anything.”
His eyes are extinguished. Let’s talk about the eyes. They reveal so much. The eyes betray those who have lost their magic. Their gaze is that of those who no longer have hope. Their faces are closed. Their bodies work, but the battery seems to have been disconnected.
This uncle was an active man. But his desire to discover new things is gone. So he waits. For what? The end, I guess. His only adventures are the trips back and forth between the fridge and the sofa.
That’s not a judgment, maybe he’s happy like that. Or maybe life has brutalized him too much and made him like this. But I’m still afraid. Afraid that my last couple of decades will look like this. Disenchanted. Without life in a world full of it.
So I’m working on my capacity for wonder. If you can lose it, surely you can earn it back? There are so many little things in life that we don’t take the time to appreciate.
As I mentioned in my morning notes, right now it’s the sun’s kiss that fills me with joy. I take my time observing the sky and I realize the magnificence of the universe. I find myself getting lost in natural landscapes. Observing things I don’t usually see.
I take time to chat with the people around me. I try not to be in a hurry. To have time for myself and for others. To be there for those who ask. To be there for the people who love me. I don’t want to be remembered as a person who never had time for anything or anyone.
I’m trying to say “I love you” a little more. I think the people you love need to know you love them. Nobody ever suffered from too much love. We’re happy when someone tells us they love us. We have that same power with a couple of tiny words.
I try to be curious. That’s why I say yes to more things. I forget my preconceptions and let myself be surprised. At worst, it’ll just be a new experience.
Life was brutal. It tried to shoot me down, but I’m still standing. I can’t let this brutality win. I can’t let this brutality steal my magic. It’s a treasure too precious. So this year, for my birthday. I’m going to celebrate. And make it unforgettable.
When the magic is fading, maybe it’s up to us to force ourselves to bring some of it back.
- Have you lost the magic you felt as a child?
- Does being an adult automatically mean losing the magic?
- How do you rekindle the magic?
We’ll discuss it in the comments.
If you don’t want to miss any of my content, you can subscribe to my newsletter.
Written by The writer’s path
Sharing my journey as a writer. Sometimes philosophy, self improvement. And occasionally … my own stories.