In Praise of Being Infantile

Calling someone infantile is often taken as an insult. Maybe it is meant to offend, but what if we choose to be infantile? What if being infantile means looking at the world with innocent curiosity, breathtaking excitement, and appreciation for the all the world’s simple beauty: the graceful dance of the clouds, the heavenly intoxication of springtime flowers, the eloquent symphony of the birds, bees, and other vocal things? What if being infantile means laughing without thinking—‘til your cheeks hurt, and you belly quivers? What if it means smiling at strangers, touching people in an uninhibited, loving way with hugs and kisses, and reaching for someone’s hand when you or they are scared or sad? What if being infantile means exposing our feelings without fear of rejection or judgment? What if it allows you to feel the tickle of grass wiggling between your toes, or feel sound vibrating in your soul, hear colors sing you a love song, and see everything “grown-ups” are too busy to notice? What if being infantile is listening to our bodies whisper what we need to do and when we need to do it? Maybe being infantile means fearless exploration. And what about trust? Can you trust like an infant? Can you see people as good? Perhaps being infantile is being happy—truly happy—with nothing more than a full belly, a warm place to sleep, and the smiles and love of the people around you. What if we choose to embrace life with all its fragile infancy? What if we see every breath as a miracle and forget about the past and have no worries about the future, but instead, enjoy the moment just as it is? If we can do this, is it so bad to be infantile? Perhaps that is the secret to having wisdom, health, and old age.