Since when did taking joy in life become immature?
Some days it feels as if all the world is blind to the question above.
Some days I feel as if I hold a secret, known to precious few in this section of the world.
I've seen adults look at children with so many different expressions. The indulgent ones, who patronize the imaginative; the happy ones, who sit on park benches and watch the little ones play, with memories of their youth in their eyes. The envious ones, too, who are nearly the same as the happy ones, except they are wishing to be sent back in time, to play as these children are.
Why can't we ('we' being the older generations) just jump up and play too? There are no rules saying we can't; we simply don't. And then we complain at home, to ourselves and to whoever is around to hear, that we miss 'the good ol' days' when we were free to do as we wished.
And then we turn and stare at anyone who does just that.
Stick your head out a moving car window to feel the wind.
Climb a tree.
Go down a slide.
There are no rules saying you can't.
And you'll live longer.