One afternoon, many years ago, I went to pick up my mother fromwork. I got there a little early so I parked the car by thecurb, across the street from where she worked, and waited forher.
As I looked outside the car window to my right, there was asmall park where I saw a little boy, around one and a half totwo years old, running freely on the grass as his mother watchedfrom a short distance. The boy had a big smile on his face as ifhe had just been set free from some sort of prison. The boywould then fall to the grass, get up, and without hesitation orwithout looking back at his mother, run as fast as he could,again, still with a smile on his face, as if nothing hadhappened.
At that moment, I thought to myself, “Why aren’t most adultsthis way?” Most adults, when they fall down (figurativelyspeaking), make a big deal out of it and don’t even make asecond attempt. They would be so embarrassed that someone sawthem fall that they would not try again. Or, because they fell,they would justify to themselves that they’re just not cut outfor it. They would end up too afraid to attempt again for fearof failure.
However, with kids (especially at an early age), when they falldown, they don’t perceive their falling down as failure, butinstead, they treat it as a learning experience (as just anotherresult/outcome). They feel compelled to try and try again untilthey succeed. (The answer must be...they have not associated"falling down" with the word "failure" yet, thus they don’t knowhow to feel the state which accompanies failure. As a result,they are not disempowered in any way. Plus, they probably thinkto themselves that it’s perfectly okay to fall down, that it’snot wrong to do so. In other words, they give themselvespermission to make mistakes, subconsciously. Thus they remainempowered.)
While I was touched by the boy’s persistence, I was equallytouched by the manner in which he ran. With each attempt, helooked so confident...so natural. No signs of fear, nervousness,or of being discouraged—as if he didn’t give a care about theworld around him. His only aim was to run freely and to do it aseffectively as he could. He was just being a child—just beinghimself—being completely in the moment. He was not looking forapproval or was not worrying about whether someone was watchingor not. He wasn’t concerned about being judged. He didn’t seemto be bothered by the fact that maybe someone would see him fall(as there were others in the park aside from him and his mother)and that it would be embarrassing if he did fall. No, all thatmattered to him was to accomplish the task or activity at handto the best of his ability. To run...and to feel the experienceof running fully and freely.
I learned a lot from that observation and experience, and havesuccessfully brought that lesson with me in my many pursuits inlife. Since then, I’ve always believed that in each of us is alittle child with absolute courage. A child that has the abilityto run freely (or express himself fully and freely)—without acare for anything external—without a care for what people wouldsay if he/she experiences a fall.
I believe that that courageous part of us, that courageous childwithin us all, will always be with us for as long as we live. Weonly need to allow it to emerge more fully. We only need to onceagain connect with that child within us—and give that childpermission to run freely, just like that boy in the park.
