This is probably not going to make any sense to those of you who do not have children.
In the last day, in Paris, I spent some time with my friend and her two daughters — one of them seven, the other four. We had a picnic on the Seine, the four of us, enjoying the beautiful warm weather, and soaking in the astonishingly lovely Parisien surroundings.
What I came away with, more than anything else, was the sheer wonder of children. My friend’s two daughters, feisty, difficult, completely innocent and completely high on life, were a wonder to me.
Both of them had a will of life, a fierce determination to enjoy every second, that no adult could ever hope to match. Simply being in their company, in the presence of such a beautiful and cacaphonous celebration of the now, had the effect of resetting my compass.
I stand in awe of the sheer force of childhood, the sense of wonder it brings, its will to life that we adults find it all to easy to forget.
Until we remember.