I bet if I asked you to close your eyes and picture the tastes and smells of your childhood, you would be able to recall in vivid detail your mother’s homemade pot roast or the way your school hallway smelled that first day back from summer break. If you asked me, I’d describe the scent of fall candles and my grandmother’s perfume on holiday visits. The sounds of children’s carols being sung in church Christmas pageants. That sparkly red sweater with the black faux fur collar. The smell of double bubble and concession stand nachos at Friday night football games over the deafening sound of the marching band. Then back at home, Keith Urban and Miranda Lambert played on rotation through my oversized stereo speakers.

Time moved differently when we were kids. Life was cyclical, an ever evolving ebb and flow of football games and holidays and summer vacation. Our days were marked by the upcoming homecoming season and the smells and tastes of Thanksgiving. By Friday night sleepovers and Saturday night Blockbuster runs. I can still hear the sound of the John Denver album permeating the house on Sunday mornings, paired with the scent of gooey cinnamon rolls still hot from the oven. There was a magic to the rhythms that marked our childhood years. A lost art to how we viewed life. We didn’t know any better then, but we had it right in our naivety.

Adulthood has its way of unraveling that magic one thread at a time. Life no longer moves in cycles marked by celebration. In Adult-land, time moves linear. You graduate, get a job, maybe get married, start a family, retire, and eventually die (to put it elegantly). This mentality is only amplified by the American Dream, always chasing the bigger house, the nicer car, the promotion, the next best thing, so much so that we forget that our lives are passing us by in the meantime.

Life no longer moves in cycles marked by celebration.

I’m fascinated by the passage of time through festivals and celebration in scripture. There was a rhythm and cycle through which life was lived at a slower, more intentional pace. Life wasn’t just an amalgamation of five year plans and to-do lists and loads of laundry. I shudder to think something beautiful has been lost in this modern way of living. Instead of being exhilarated by our accomplishments and perpetual forward motion, we are tired and depleted. With no steady anchors to keep us returning to slower days, causes for pause and reflection, a break in routine, a new celebration—we are left running a race with an ever receding finish line. We find ourselves saying things like, Once I get the job, then things will slow down. We’ll do things differently. I’ll be able to afford that vacation or that day off to take the kids to that place I’ve been promising them for months.

What if we stopped making excuses for the life that has only left us feeling worn-out and defeated, and began taking cues from our childhood, from our own children? Earlier this week Cyrus asked me what holiday it was, going through his list of favorites—Halloween? Christmas? River’s Birthday?

No, bud. I responded. It’s just a regular Wednesday. Unconvinced by my answer, he decided to create his own holiday, dubbing it “Thingy”— a day where you play upstairs in the playroom all day in your pjs. I’ve been alive for almost 30 years, and it’s the first time I’ve ever considered creating my own holiday. But the idea of celebrating an otherwise ordinary Wednesday was such a wonderful and whimsical concept for me.

What if we reclaimed the rhythms and flow of time that led us through seasons of excitement and rest and reflection and celebration? What if we began to sprinkle in small rituals throughout our days and weeks that would serve as reminders to be active and present in this beautiful life unfolding before our very eyes? Perhaps we could begin with dinner around the table one night a week, no screens, no distractions. Or the setting aside of a family Sabbath, a protected space of worship and rest and togetherness. Maybe for you, it’s taking the family vacation you’ve been wanting to take for years now or finally starting that new tradition you’ve been talking about forever.

We’ve lost something sweet and magical in our childhood, but my boys are slowly bringing it back for me. I see their innocence and wonder and I’m committed to nurturing those qualities. It doesn’t mean I say yes to every request or go broke trying to outdo myself in unforgettable experiences. Sometimes it’s as simple as a daily family walk around the block or a time of thankfulness and reflection as I tuck them into their beds at night. If I’m certain of one thing, it’s that I have so much to learn, or unlearn more so, from this lost magic of childhood.

xo,
Alyssa

The Lost Magic of Childhood

Life no longer moves in cycles marked by celebration.