Yonatan

[Picture taken unknowingly by the approaching friend]


He came out of nowhere.

It's a windy day and I'm sitting on the bench, ignoring my messy hair
and waiting for a friend.

Walking by slowly, he looked at me curiously.

Something about him forced me out of my shell, and I smiled at him. He
accepted with a shy forwardness, and took a seat on the bench next to
me.

When I asked him what he was doing, he told me that a big wind had
come and he lost his friends.

We became immediate buddies.

----------

His name is Yonatan. He is a four year old on a mission.

Yonatan came to release something within me that's been hidden, put
down, and woefully unexpressed.

I asked him questions, and he answered with enthusiasm. He was
completely unafraid when he realized I don't speak his language fluently. It didn't matter to him. There could be nothing in the way of what he was sent here to do.

He told me about his family. He told me about school. He's very
excited for Purim. He wishes they didn't have to learn about Pesach
yet. He likes candy, and seemed unsure of my sincerity when I shared his enthusiasm.

But the thing is, I was being totally sincere. While talking to
Yonatan, I realized that I was expressing a vulnerability that I have
closed of to most people. I felt light and simple. I towered over him,
but I felt soft and small. There was something about this four year
old that was overpowering me.

I thought I was innocent, but Yonatan opened me up to the kind of
innocence that I have forgotten to value.

It's the kind of innocence that let's you approach people with a smile. The
innocence that doesn't see boundaries. The innocence that lets you
give all of your attention to the moment. An innocence that believes
in it's own strengths, but that takes itself lightly. An innocence
that sees beauty, discovery, and adventure everywhere. The kind of
innocence that trusts the goodness in others, and won't be convinced otherwise. An innocence that allows dependence on another. An innocence that wears no sign of unnecessary seriousness.

An innocence that doesn't know how innocent it really is.

Yonatan made me miss the child I once was. I never got to say goodbye. Who dared to steal my youth and why did I not protest? Why can't I be more like Yonatan? Can I recover what's been lost? Can I invite my inner child back into this world I've created? Will it be comfortable with the new me?

I'm too serious. Serious about learning. Serious about relationships.
Even my happiness with life has a seriousness it can't seem to escape.
But deep beneath my intensity, my ever present feeling of mature
existence, is a child. A child that went to sleep without a lullaby
and has been waiting for someone to jump in and turn on the light.

If I would have had more articulate Hebrew skills working for me at
the moment, I would have told Yonatan that he changed something within me by stopping to say hi, by sitting on the bench and talking with me. I would have told him that his precious smile lit up a world within me that's been dark for way too long.

It pains me to think that, one day, Yonatan might come across someone who will send him the message - albeit subtly - that he "needs to grow up." It frustrates me that something about this world might ruin Yonatan's soft nature, make him serious, get tainted, and never turn back - all without even saying goodbye.

But why can't we all be a little bit more childish? Why do we all
leave a part of ourselves behind? As we grow up, our inner child wants to as well - but it never asked to be destroyed, to be forgotten. It still wants to be a part of our new world, our new adventures. Why do we fear our inner child? Why can't we grow up together?

I wanted to ask Yonatan if I could carry him around in my pocket. But, no. Yonatan knows my new mission. He vanished as quickly as he came, leaving me feeling old and lonely - but inspired to waken my inner playground.