A woman sat two rows ahead of my in church this morning with her five month old son. She faced forward, while he faced me. His energy caught my attention and kept me rapt throughout the entire service. This tiny human took such joy and delight in his existence that I was awed and honored to be around him. He would look quizzically at me, studying my nose, eyes, mouth, and then throw his head and torso backwards, crowing with excitement, happiness, marvel. It was if he was saying, “This life thing, it’s really great. I’m so happy to be here and you should be too.” With each explosion of giggles and grin he was releasing the non-stop build up of joy that coursed through him, like there just wasn’t enough space inside to hold it all.
I told my mom about this delighted baby as I walked home from church. She said that she remembered my sister standing in the middle of the living room in our house in LA, spontaneously dancing and singing, overflowing from within with love and happiness. I feel sad that as we age, we lose the ability to be so unabashedly excited about nothing more than being alive.
I’ve actually been feeling inexplicably happy lately, like I’ve raised some internal curtain and suddenly the light is able to stream in again. It feels almost like the sensation of the initial slide into new love, full of promise, hope and excitement. Maybe I’m like the baby I watched this morning, in love with being alive.