Life lessons from a 6 year old

Posted on October 19, 2009
Filed Under Daily, Life in L.A., The Boss | 15 Comments

A few weeks ago, The Boss and I were driving home after a few hours spent at The Grove, and as the setting sun illuminated the sky with the kinds of colors that steal your breath, I felt a cool, early-evening California breeze sweep across my face. I tried to soak in that moment, the weather, the atmosphere, but something was missing. I turned to The Boss who was driving and said, “How do you seize the day?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You know, people are always saying things like, ‘Live in the moment,’” I said. ” ‘Carpe Diem,’ people always say that. But I feel like this is one of those moments to live in, and I don’t know how to do it. How do you make the most of the moment you’re in? How do you slow down your life so every moment counts? Any second we’ll be home, and this day will never come back.”

“Well, you can start by not thinking about it that way,” he said. “Living in the moment isn’t thinking about when it’s going to end.”

I tried to live in that moment: Pink skies overhead being chased by an army of darkness taking the shadows previously cast by the sunlight captive. But I couldn’t do it. A few minutes later, the sun had set, the sky was black, and we were home, and I felt like I lost something. I couldn’t fully live in that moment, and I couldn’t understand why.

Over the weekend, The Boss and I went to one of our favorite Indian restaurants for lunch. Hanging from the top of the door frame was a sign that said “Happy Diwali” scribbled in black marker on a yellow piece of ruled paper likely ripped from a notepad. We found a table outside, and as we started eating, we noticed two little kids, a brother and sister, playing together. The little girl must have been about 6, and her brother, 4. They were eating snacks, and sipping on drinks while their mom was in the store getting groceries.

“Okay watch me,” the girl said to her brother. “I’m going to touch it.”

The Boss and I watched as the little girl jumped for the sign hanging from the door frame. She tried again, and again, but missed it by more than a few inches each time. The Boss and I quietly critiqued her jumping strategies, and her brother watched on, his dark eyes fixed on his sister, his tiny hands tightly holding a glass of mango lassi. After more than a dozen tries, the little girl started to get winded. She ran over to her brother.

“Maybe I need some mango lassi,” she said.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he agreed, handing her the glass. She took a few large gulps, and got back into a running stance. She started to run, picked up speed, and leapt for the sign. Missed again. Just then, their mom came out of the store.

“No, no,” the mom said to her daughter. “Don’t do that.”

The little girl froze at her mother’s command, but didn’t take her eyes off the sign. She brushed the small hairs that had fallen out of her two braids away from her face, and I could see her fingers twitching. She was itching to jump again, but didn’t move.

“I’m going to put this stuff in the car,” the mom said, her hands filled with grocery bags. “Don’t move from here, okay?”

“Okay,” the kids said in unison.

When their mom was out of sight, the girl jumped at the sign again.

Missed.

Realizing her mother could return at any moment, she instructed her brother, “Check to make sure mom isn’t coming back.”

He put his mango lassi down on the table, and she took her running stance.
He pushed his chair away from the table to stand up, and she started to run.
He walked toward the door, and she picked up speed.
He peeked his head around the corner, and she jumped.

And this time, she hit the sign.

“She did it,” I said to The Boss, “And her brother missed it.”

“I did it!” the little girl yelled, turning to find her brother keeping a look out for their mom and not watching her repeated efforts.

“You missed it!!!” she shouted, the disappointment in her voice tempered by the rush of adrenaline with which she said it. Her little brother ran to the sign, and jumped for it, hopeful to follow in his sister’s footsteps. But coming in at a whopping 3’6″, it was highly unlikely that he’d be able to repeat the stunt. The bar had been set too high, literally. The girl peeked her head around the corner, and then ran to her seat.

“Here she comes!”

The little boy followed his sister, and both children were in their seats moments before their mom returned.

“Thanks for waiting,” she said, taking the mango lassi from her son to take a sip. “Let’s go.”

The mom led the kids out of the store, but the little girl stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the sign she conquered one final time. I could see the confidence oozing from her whole body. Her expression was solid, her body positioning was deliberate, and her eyes were knowing. Just then, a few dozen pigeons took flight from the telephone line they had been sitting on, and the whole scene looked like the perfect ending to a well-directed movie. And that’s when I realized that her determination to reach that sign had me so captivated that I hadn’t thought about anything else, past or future, for those 15 minutes. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I had seized a moment. I soaked in her accomplishment as if it were my own.

She might not realize it now, but that little girl, who has probably never heard the phrase Carpe diem, taught herself a valuable life lesson that day about never giving up, but she taught me a valuable lesson that day, too. Sometimes, seizing the day isn’t about yourself at all. It’s about soaking in life’s beautiful moments, even when they’re not your own.

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