i just had a wonderful conversation with a little girl. she’s three. she told me so with her fingers and thumb. we sat in a coffee shop that smells of rosemary and stories, giggling at each other.

a beautiful, little girl in a blue and white checkered dress, her brown hair pulled tight on top of her head where a frangipani peered through. her smile enormous, her eyes bright.

we played games with no words. and we laughed and laughed and laughed.

today i laughed so hard, i cried.

tears blurred my vision as i clutched my sides and choked on the words i hopelessly attempted to form; nonsensical broken sentences, parts of words spluttered between a gasping of air and spurts of silent laughter.

and as i bounced up and down, the welling in my eyes overflowed, streaming down my face and leaving a residue of dry, gritty, salt on my cheeks.

in that moment, i felt a giddiness i hadn’t known in years. a reminder of how wonderful it is to be simply and knowingly happy.

when i was young, i broke my leg.

you’re so innocent, naive, fragile, when you’re young.

waiting for grazed knees and scarred elbows after learning to walk, run and ride a bike…learning that sometimes you fall over. sometimes and many times.

you think about toys and watch moral-of-the-story tv shows. you get cooties and you get chicken pox and you have bath time and you have nap time. you drink milk. you play: cops and robbers; with barbies; in a tree house.

then you grow up and you have this capacity to learn and soak up extraordinary amounts of knowledge.

it happens all of a sudden. you become old enough to think for yourself, make decisions, choose your fate. and that’s how it is.

no one’s keeping score. this isn’t win/lose. this is try your heart out. go, do, be, feel.