The Key to Embracing Your Child-Like Spirit

When I was six-years-old I took my first trek on an airplane. I remember the heavy steps of a young girl, passing through an aluminum threshold. I was like Neil Armstrong, right foot in front of left. I strolled down the aisle of strangers, greeted them with a smile, and proceeded to concoct a dramatic life for each—the man in the black suit was Batman, the woman in the tan skirt was a spy, and her baby, a robot from the future. After passing what felt like miles of carbon-copy rows, my mom finally pointed me into our row and towards the coveted window seat. Overcome with excitement I proceeded to probe everything: the chair, the pamphlets, the seat in front of me, and, of course, the multi-purpose fold-out table. The safety PSA began, and I buckled in, ready for the intense journey.

As the plane climbed through the sky, my ears popped, but nothing, not even the complimentary snacks, could break my gaze from the reflective lake of clouds. I was in awe, unavailable to the outside world. Suddenly, the dam holding back my thoughts burst, and out they flooded. Tragic news stories flickered through my mind, provoking precautionary physics drills: What objects could create buoyancy? If I had to jump out of the plane, could I use my backpack like in my cartoons? How long would it take me to reach the ground? I pondered the effects of air pressure on the human body. I thought about the shapes of the clouds and questioned why flying through them caused turbulence. This flight turned out to be a heavenly experience for me, simultaneously introducing my parents to their future exhaustion—my unrelenting curiosity.

As the years passed, the depth of my inquiry grew. I wondered, “What is my neurological and spiritual limit?” From those more perplexing questions, my desire to become a doctor grew. I wanted to tackle one of the most complex levels of understanding—the understanding of human life: the reason it is the way it is, the underlying cause of its imperfections, the body’s maximum efficacy, and the true limits of the mind. Curiosity had become a part of my identity.

Throughout my freshman and junior years, I came to see inquiry as burdensome and tried to repress it. Unknowingly, I placed myself in a period of decline. Slowly, my vivaciousness, my determination, and my curiosity dimmed. I became a recognizably different person; this was problematic. As I searched for a way to climb out of this, I thought about my kindergarten self along with her hunger for all of the answers. I thought about my pre-teen self and her overwhelming joy found in the information of each subject. Finally, I reflected on my current state of unhappiness. Why was I stagnant? The missing factor was my curiosity.

As I realized this, I began replacing limitations with aspirations. I understood that life is not a pursuit for the weak or lazy. Though I was neither, I was underperforming. If I truly wanted to pursue a fulfilling life, I could not stay where I was. This placed me at a crossroads. I could either be static and comfortable, or I could be spirited and fruitful. I chose the spirited route and finally accepted myself, curiosity included. Hoping to spark a revival, I began delving into podcasts, books, and experiences, until eventually my mind naturally freed itself.

I look forward to life’s many possibilities and the opportunity to use my inquisition to champion a successful future. In coming to embrace my curiosity, my identity as the little girl has matured, and instead of watching the clouds, I am ready to soar among them.