Articles That Support Self-Awareness
and Personal Growth
I Want to Be Six Again
(Author Unknown)
To Whom It May Concern:
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult in order
to accept the responsibilities of a 6 year old . . . The tax base is
lower. I want to be six again. I want to go to McDonald's and think it's
the best place in the world to eat. I want to sail sticks across a fresh
mud puddle and make waves with rocks. I want to think M&Ms are better
than money 'cause you can eat them. I want to play kickball during recess
and stay up on Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa and Rudolph on the
roof.
I long for the days when life was simple. When all you knew were your
colors, the addition tables and simple nursery rhymes, but it didn't
bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know, and you didn't
care. I want to go to school and have snack time, recess, gym, and field
trips. I want to be happy because I don't know what should make me upset. I
want to think the world is fair, and everyone in it is honest and good. I
want to believe that anything is possible. Sometime, while I was maturing,
I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons, prejudice, starving
and abused kids, lies, unhappy marriages, illness, pain and mortality.
I want to be six again.
I want to think that everyone, including myself, will live forever because
I don't know the concept of death. I want to be oblivious to the complexity
of life, and be overly excited by the little things again. I want television
to be something I watch for fun, not something I use for escape from
the things I should be doing. I want to live knowing the little things
I find exciting will always make me as happy as when I first learned
them . . . I want to be six again.
I remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather being aware of
only the things that directly concerned me. I want to be naive enough
to think that if I'm happy, so is everyone else. I want to walk down
the beach and think only of the sand beneath my feet, and the possibility
of finding that blue piece of sea glass I'm looking for. I want to spend
my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike, letting the grownups
worry about time, the dentist, and how to find the money to fix the old
car. I want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up, and what I'll be,
who I'll be, and not worry about what I'll do if this doesn't work out.
I want that time back. I want to use it now as an escape, so that when
my computer crashes, or I have a mountain of paperwork, or two depressed
friends, or a fight with my spouse, or bittersweet memories of times
gone by, or second thoughts about so many things, I can travel back,
and build a snowman, without thinking about anything except whether the
snow sticks together, and what I can possibly use for the snowman's mouth.