Of Tantrums and Tiger Eyes

 

“We all do it. We may think we’re better than that, but every Adult is really still just a 5 year-old with a wallet and a key ring.”

My pride wells up. No way. Not me. Come on, there’s a bit more maturity in me than a 5 year-old.

“At some point or another, at least once a day, people reduce themselves to the 5 year-old version of themselves. And that’s ok. It just is.”

My boss said this to me early on in my time in Germany, and has repeated it to me off and on over the course of the past year. At first I just laughed. “That’s an interesting thought,” I respond. But no, I’m not sure I see people that way.

Weeks go by, and I see a coworker fight me over something trivial, or I see myself holding onto an unnecessary grudge. I catch myself over and over again getting upset when someone messes with my sense of control in the world, and then it comes: the Tantrum. Sure, it’s rare that someone throws him- or herself on the ground and starts wailing… but the [passive-]aggressive comments or isolating movements come nonetheless.

Over time, I began to see a bit of what Beth was talking about. Yeah, sometimes we throw fits that don’t really make sense… but it’s not every day…

The door bursts open.

“Tony, did you see! We brought some Chocolate back,” Beth says to me. She begins to tell me about her weekend visit to a little town in Slovenia. “And there was this Church in the middle of the lake… and Tony, there was this bell!!! And we got to ring it!!!”

If only there were words for her eyes. They looked as if a Wizard, or Santa Clause, or Aslan the Great had just been by to visit. They’re the eyes that you see when you come down the meadow in front of the Bebenhausen monastery. It’s the look you see when the black lights turn on at the Bowling Alley and you hear Eye of the Tiger blaring in the background. They’re eyes that are big, wide, and full of wonder.

Secret Gardens in LustnauWonder. That’s it. That’s the word.

It fills the eyes of the hopeful; the ones who dare to believe there’s something good in the world.

It is stolen or surrendered sometime near the end of our childhood, bargained away so quickly for a moment of “cool” and a lingering fear of what others think.

I’m starting to think Beth’s right. Our inner 5 year-old is going to make an appearance, probably in the next few hours. But maybe it doesn’t have to be a tantrum that comes out this time.

Still Wandering,
Tony

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