I don’t want to miss you. I don’t want to be so busy planning the logistics of the beach trip that I miss you bounding into the waves in pure joy. I don’t want to be so concerned about your clothes getting wet that I miss the glimpse of you in your absolute element—lost in your imagination, practicing courage to walk down the beach alone, and singing a song you just made up.
I want to be present enough to truly see you, to enjoy you, to let the purity of your joy reorient my own heart. You are my model of living in the moment, of taking it all in. I don’t want to miss the truth that you have as much to teach me as I have to teach you. Hurry, schedules, and my own struggle to embrace a mundane moment, all get in the way of my ability to see what you see—adventure in every moment.