Reclaiming*

Why is it that as adults, we find it difficult to remember what it's like to feel like a child? Are we so jaded and single-minded that we don't know what wonder and amazement and naked joy feels like? These are obviously unanswerable questions, but it's nice to put them out there.

I had lunch with my old boss the other day and he reminded me of that. He said "When it feels like your days are hard and frustrating right now, try to fake yourself out by convincing yourself that the 'hard' bits are the 'exciting' bits. Like not knowing where to go food shopping, or not knowing which bread to buy. Make everything an adventure and it might help you get the energy back to deal with the transition." (he probably put it more eloquently than that, but you get the point.)

I do appreciate the fact that I've always had that child in me, that wonder, that distant "ooooh..look!" while I'm walking down the street and forget what I was supposed to be doing. That's the purest form of my nature: a child-like curiosity and excitement about life. It's been in hiding for a little while, just because I'm trying to focus on so many little things in this city, everything taking just a little longer than normal to sink in. We tend to forget, as adults, how to giggle, how to sing, how to love. So, in order to bring the little Myshka out of hiding for a bit, I'll reclaim some of what I love and what gives my life that unadulterated joy:

peanut butter sandwiches
the colour green
giggling so hard my stomach hurts
silly jokes (i.e: why doesn't a cannibal eat clowns? because they taste funny.)
watching a band play in a small venue
berries and cream- fresh whipped cream.
the smell of the mister's skin
hot croissants and butter
sunrises in Paris
chilly mornings waking up on a boat
holding hands
horseback riding (or doing any sport) to the point of exhaustion
5 hour dinners with lots of wine and friends
happy/sad crying at a film, opera, etc.
singing fun little songs to myself
making jewelry
singing along to songs by Journey and Chicago
picnics
board games
kisses. lots of them.
happy coloured shoes
dressing up for a night out
horses' faces
sleeping on a boat at sea
hot chocolate in front of a fire after skiing
seeing my wedding band sparkle
having a good current events debate
the way a kitten sounds when it first meows
speaking different languages
challenging myself
sunflowers and peonies
going on road trips
monkeys
sliding on a wooden floor with socks on
dancing little dances that I invent
hearing the mister laugh
burning dinner (but honestly trying not to. it's hilarious)
falling alseep to the ocean
filing and organizing
feeling sand under my feet
the smell of the outdoors on me when I come home
finding something so unique I know it was made for me
hugs. lots of hugs.
working really hard at a dream and not giving up
travelling and imagining the next country we'll live in
smiling. lots of it.

This is such a small chunk of who I am, but I'll stop the list now- not just because I don't want to bore anyone, but because special stuff is meant to be saved for me. Everyone has their box of magic, and I just have to remember that I have lots of deposits to make into mine.


*Disclaimer: I'm trying to formulate thoughts for this blog, but forgive me if I don't tie the threads together eloquently, as I'm competing with a table of 4 loud Indian girls with voices like chainsaws sitting next to me, and they keep slamming their fists on their table or clap to punctuate their conversations about their respective lives. I dare think what they're clapping for, all I've heard is "size", "he wants it too much" and "position". Great. I doubt they're clapping because one of them found a rare Amazonian flower that contains the cure for idiocy. Unfortunately.