Spotting the rainbows

I know he isn't always right, he can be very judgmental and he's biased in his opinions of me. Nonetheless, the bond between us is stronger than most others in my life, and in the lives of others I know. And so I still ask his opinion, question myself over his critique. When the adult, logical woman knows he is wrong, the child in me craves approval, is a little afraid of losing this tie because of his opinions, and I want, more than necessary, to prove my point, convince him of the other side of things.

So when this person claimed to be younger at heart than I am, it turned into an instant competition in my head. For him, it is likely a conclusion that he has arrived at after many judgments over many instances that I brushed off as too casual, and the statement itself, cast off just as easily, is not even something worth arguing about, because there is nothing I could possibly say that would convince him otherwise.

Only time, I tell myself as I hold my tongue. Only time, and life's experiences, will convince him otherwise. The contest remains, though, in my head. And for the last two days, I have pondered the meaning of childhood, and being young at heart.

Does it mean not being careful with things like health and money? Eating badly because only boring old people fuss over healthy foods and exercise? Is it a refusal to move forward in life- avoiding romance, marriage, and adult conversations about life choices- is refusing the trappings of adulthood a sign of being young at heart?

To me, being an adult and a child have much in common. Both are about walking into dark mazes, sticky situations, jumping off giant walls- and finding your way out, testing your skills and knowing that you can, that there is always a happy ending when your mom yells out the door to come in, the day's play is over and its time for dinner with the family.

Being young at heart is the ability to see life as an endless game, and in the end everyone really does win. The playgrounds change as one grows older, but the games are the same. 'Adults' are only the people who have forgotten that at the end of the game, the cops and robbers, pirates and kidnapped princesses, all link arms and go home as friends. That the scary enemies surrounding your besieged fortress are only friends waving sticks in the dusk. The crocodile who will not let you cross the golden river unless you give him a certain color? He's a friend too, all he wants is that you have the right perspective, and spot the solutions hidden in the kaleidoscope of colors that can confuse you in times of stress.

The difference between an adult and a child is in perception. When the child sees the rainbow on the sidewalk, the adult only sees an oil leak from someone's car. The Real Adult admires the rainbow, feels a little thrill at knowing the physics of refraction and angles of light, remembers to tell their neighbor to check their car, and walks home.

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So who is younger at heart- him or I? It is no longer a contest, only a difference in perspective. I still don't understand the reason for his statement, nor the necessity of it. But I am, for now, more comfortable with who I am, the way I am growing up, growing older.)