Summer was the best season for me as a child. I have embraced some manly adventures since I was young. I would wake up late and grope for my pellet gun underneath my bed. I didn’t bother to comb my hair or wash my face. I was up for the day simply because it was something new. And all beginnings are exciting. I would play basketball until the sun is at its summit. I didn’t care about my complexion. I didn’t even care how I smelled. I was playing simply because it was fun and challenging.
I would roam around every street with my bicycle. I would climb the trees. I would touch it, feel it, memorize it—every curve, every warp, every twig. I would touch the ground. I would make a variety of clay figures and bake them under the settling sun of subtle scourges. I would gather weird-shaped stones from the stream nearby and catch little fishes or dragonflies. I would run as fast as I could before dusk and tell everyone about my day’s adventure. Summer for me, then, was days spent outside with the memories of humid air and sun’s rays. My major heartbreak, then, was being told that summer was over.
As I’ve gone through many summers until reaching this age of 23, those experiences have become metaphors of the early adult life that I am now taking. It’s fun doing the work of which essences are evident. But there are many days in this adult life that brings back the feeling of being told that summer is over when my heart was still yearning to spend days under the sun. There are many things in adult life that lack the sense of glee of a childhood adventure. There are many things in this stage that makes me want to reawaken my inner child. I know you have your own summer venture story. And if you feel the same, I invite you; let’s dare ourselves to let the child in us have a voice again, have a touch again, have a life again.
CLIMB a tree, a hill or that long staircase. Forget about the elevator. Climb like a child.
This teaches us focus. You’ve probably drawn a hundred trees, but how many have you climbed? You’ve probably dreamed of hiking or trekking, but how many have you dared to fulfill? As a child, we were fearless. We were very sure as we headed up, up and up. Remember the many times you almost fell but never gave up? Our eyes, then, were fixed on the things that were on top. We were not used to settling for less. We allowed ourselves to dream tall. We focused on what was above than what we had at hand. What happened to us? Let’s dare ourselves to let go of our reservations. Let’s commit ourselves to climb.
COLOR! Grab a paper. Borrow some coloring materials. You know you’ve always wanted to do this.
This teaches us creativity. You’ve probably become used to writing in black pens, typing in keyboard, making your paper a monochrome of highlighter, but when was the last time you held a crayon, pastel, or watercolor? Remember the times you were proud of your artwork? Let’s stop comparing. Let’s start exploring beyond the usual solutions. Let’s commit ourselves to put on some color.
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MEMORIZE a new song.
This teaches us, well, memory. You’ve probably been playing some songs in your head before reading this blog, but how much of its lyrics have you savored? Have you ever appreciated its second verse? As a child, we were very particular of songs. We sing in loop before going to sleep just to make sure our words are right. We even used to write them down. Until adult life allowed us to eat the words we’re not sure of and hum on those we don’t even understand. I’ve been singing and trying to memorize the song “Beneath Your Beautiful” the past days.
You tell all the boys “no”
Makes you feel good, yeah.
I know you’re out of my league
But that won’t scare me away, oh no
You’ve carried on so long,
You couldn’t stop if you tried it.
You’ve built your wall so high
That no one could climb it,
But I’m gonna try
Would you let me see beneath your beautiful?
Would you let me see beneath your perfect?
How about you? Let’s strengthen our memory. Let’s find a good song and commit ourselves truly sing its words from the heart.
Don’t jog—RUN. Do it as fast as you can.
This teaches us more than speed. This teaches us alertness. You’ve probably jogged for a good cardio exercise or to lose some fats, but when was the last time you ever run merely for the sake of running? As a child, we were faster than our dad’s wheels. We were more present than the moon. We could shout louder than airplanes. We believed in ourselves. We knew when to compete. We made wise choices of our battles. We knew which ones we could defeat and which ones we couldn’t. And we knew that we would learn new techniques either way. Remember the times you ran side by side with a bicycle and pretended you could go faster even when you were sure you couldn’t? We used to know when to move or, rather, we at least knew when we wanted to move. We knew which gestures would be dangerous. We were watchful. We were thoughtful, a bit careless, but undoubtedly joyful. Let’s free ourselves from second thoughts. Run. Even if it means just taking the treadmill, let’s commit ourselves to run at least a hundred meters.
TOUCH THE GROUND. Just do it.
This teaches us humility. You’ve probably spent an ample time dusting the dirt off your table, but when was the last time you befriended some earth? I don’t have a lot of say about why I think you should do this, but I really think you should. As a child, our pride was low. We were not as exacting as we are now. No gesture was “so not us.” We did things for delight, not for Facebook or Instagram. Let’s place our bare hands on the ground and commit ourselves to do it simply because it’s not too much to ask from us anyway.
Leo Rosten said, “You can understand people better if you look at them—no matter how old or impressive they may be—as if they are children. For most of us never mature; we simply grow taller.” All of us have an inner child inside longing to be heard. From time to time, let us allow it to speak. Let us allow it to take us to the many memories and learning of summer. Let us allow it to take control and teach us things we used to know so well. Let us greet it with delight, “Hello, inner child!”
