Children aren’t so much different than us old-people. Or maybe it’s more like, we aren’t so different from them. I’m watching a load of the girl scouts at the Elementary I teach English at (in Seoul, South Korea) set up their campsites for the campout they get to have at school today. They have all types of food (that they’ve been hauling around with them all day), blankets, pillows, backpacks, and games.
Clearly, they have been thinking about this event for a while.
And now! Here it comes!! The big day they’ve all been waiting for! But I can guarantee that, somewhere along this night, a few are going to go home crying, a handful will feel pretty rotten in the morning from a bad night’s sleep, and the majority will realize that sleeping in their familiar homes is way better than the great unknown.
But then there will be a select few, those that I envy as grown-ups today. They will be the kids that had the time of their lives. Those ones that knew home was still waiting for them and were so present in the moment that they really soaked up every aspect of it. Those people are rare, and it seems like that ability is more of a gift than something that can be acquired.
But either-way, as I stare out of my window at the sea of uniforms beyond, I know I'd rather go home crying from the campout, than miss out on the excitment all together.
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