Hi there, dreamers and deep thinkers,
Let me tell you about my niece, a pint-sized whirlwind of creativity who seems to believe that everything is a canvas. She’s two years old, but don’t let her size fool you—she’s a force of nature armed with crayons, pens, and an imagination too big to be confined to mere paper.
The hardwood floors now bear her fleeting inspirations in every color of the rainbow. The white couch, once a pristine backdrop, is adorned with loops and squiggles that whisper stories only she understands. It’s as though she’s leaving her mark, declaring to the universe, “I am here. I matter. Watch me create.”
At first, I’ll admit, it was hard to watch. My inner adult panicked—Oh no! The couch! The floor! But then I stopped myself. Why was I so upset? What is a couch, really? Just a thing. A floor? A platform for living. But her drawings? They were pure expressions of joy, curiosity, and boundless potential. They were alive.
The Art of Seeing Beyond the Mess
Children have this incredible ability to live entirely in the moment, something we adults often forget. While we see a scribble, they see a story. A line is a dragon’s tail; a circle is the moon. To her, the world isn’t a collection of objects to preserve—it’s a playground to transform. And isn’t that what we all long for in our creative pursuits? The courage to break the rules and color outside the lines?
Psychologists say that a child’s seemingly chaotic artwork is a vital part of their development. Those scribbles aren’t just random; they’re a dance between the hand, the mind, and the soul. Every mark helps her understand spatial relationships, fine-tune motor skills, and express emotions too big for words. It’s art therapy at its most primal and pure.
Interconnected Moments of Love
Cleaning up her “masterpieces” has become a meditative practice for me. As I wipe the floor or flip the couch cushion, I think about what she’s teaching me: to let go, to embrace imperfection, to see beauty in the unexpected. Her marks on the furniture remind me that everything is interconnected—the couch, the crayon, the child, and me. It’s all part of the same vast web of being.
Her drawings remind me of my mother’s touch, the way she left her mark on my life in quiet, often unnoticed ways. My niece’s scribbles, though fleeting, carry echoes of those deeper truths: that we are all creators, leaving imprints on the world and each other, whether we realize it or not.
A Legacy of Living Fully
One day, my niece will grow out of this phase. She’ll learn that crayons are “supposed” to stay on paper and that couches are “supposed” to stay white. Part of me aches for that day, for the loss of this beautiful, chaotic freedom. But another part of me knows that these moments are eternal, captured in the stories I’ll tell her when she’s older.
For now, I treasure her boldness, her fearlessness. She reminds me to loosen my grip on the “shoulds” of life and embrace the “coulds.” After all, life itself is a canvas. Why not draw on it with abandon?
Stay curious,
April
