tiny philosophers

wowwws, melted butter, and auntie silly sarah

lately i’ve noticed something interesting about my instagram algorithm.

it has slowly (and finally) tuned itself to the kinds of things i pause on.

sunrises breaking over hills.
birds chirping in the early morning.
wind moving through trees.
bubbles floating towards the sky.
light spilling across a room.
dolphins playing in the ocean.

i find myself witnessing the incredible way the world moves when no one is trying to control it.

and recently, those pauses have reminded me of a friend of mine…and her daughter.

there’s something about the energy children naturally carry that i find so fun and electric to be around.

they notice everything.

a patch of sunlight on the floor.
a bug crossing the sidewalk.
a plane in the sky.
a seashell in the sand.
bark on a tree.
the way a taste of food makes them pucker their lips.
the way the wind moves the leaves.
the moon as it takes on different shapes.
the subtle energy shifts in others.

they stop in the middle of a sentence to follow another train of thought.

i do this too. my mom once asked if i had a hundred ideas swirling around my mind and simply pulled one down to speak. the answer is yes, though not always consciously. it’s just how i move.

their imagination floats like a bee between flowers looking for nectar.
they laugh with their whole being.
they grab your hand without explaining why.
they run until they collapse into giggles.
they follow energy the way shimmers move across the surface of water.
their emotions are as big as their bodies.

and perhaps what i notice most is that they experience things before they name them.

before the explanation.
before the definition.
before the mind steps in and decides what something is.

just the moment itself.

there’s a kind of presence there that adults spend entire lifetimes trying to return to.

for some, the path of parenthood is clear.
for others, it never quite calls in the same way.

and yet even if you never have children of your own, sometimes a child enters your life who opens something profound, touching your inner child in a way you may have long forgotten.

my friend has a little one who is two and a half.

she has the kind of spirit that seems to exist in permanent awe, wandering from whatever excites her one moment to the next.

she’ll play with a flower, a rock, a leaf, sand, dirt, animals — once even feeding my dog a handful of melted butter with the cheekiest grin — and her own imagination as if it’s the greatest thing in the world (spoiler alert: it is).

and amidst it all, there’s often series of long, breathy:

“wowwwwws.”

every time, my heart softens.

it’s as if something in me remembers.

it’s safe to wonder.
it’s safe to ask why.
it’s safe to feel a moment before trying to explain it.

she’ll roll on the floor laughing.

she’ll make funny noises just to see what happens.

she’ll study everything with the seriousness of a tiny philosopher, even if she never says what she’s thinking out loud.

sometimes she’ll grab my hand and pull me somewhere without a word, as if she’s inviting me back into her present moment.

sometimes i’ll pick her up and spin her around until we both want to throw up, and then she looks at me with a face that says,

“more please.”

sometimes she climbs into my arms, headbutts me, and then buries her head into my shoulder and wraps her tiny arms around my neck for a hug.

they call me auntie silly sarah.

and honestly…that feels exactly right.

because around her, seriousness dissolves.

friendships shift when children enter the picture.

the conversations change.
time becomes more fragmented.
life begins moving in different directions.

there can be moments where it feels harder to find the same kind of space that once existed.

and i still notice something interesting in myself…feeling excited for friends who are expecting while also acknowledging that life continues unfolding differently for each of us.

not better.
not worse.

just different paths moving forward at the same time.

love isn’t gone.

life is fuller now.

instead of losing depth, the connection simply changes shape.

the catch-ups become a little more chaotic.
a little more interrupted.

and somehow also…richer.

because sitting on the floor making silly noises with a toddler while your friend pours another glass of wine might actually be another form of connection.

a softer one.

one that reminds you life was never meant to be held together too tightly.

life moves in cycles.

and every stage holds its own kind of beauty.

some of us are raising children.
some of us are raising ideas.
gardens.
communities.
spaces for reflection.

some of us are learning how to return to wonder again.

and sometimes it takes a tiny human to remind us how.

to experience something before we label it.

to feel a moment fully before trying to understand it.

to simply pause.

and whisper…

wow.

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