People always rave: Kids are fantastic at yoga.
See one kick up to handstand in front of you, and it's nearly impossible to argue. There they are: Limber. Flexible. Balanced. Brave.
But what's also hard to argue is how children seem to naturally embrace concepts inherent to yogic philosophy too. Like being in the moment. Like surrender. Like acceptance.
Yesterday we spent the day at the beach. On our way down the condo stairs, the little boy we'd met at the pool Tuesday stood still on the steps, snorkel in hand, waiting for his mom, dad and brother.
"You going to the pool?" he asked, squinting up at us. All freckles and sun-kissed cheeks.
"Beach," I answered, holding up our bag. "Waves today. You guys should come out."
Hours later, I spotted him crossing the dunes. Trailing behind his mom. Boogie board balanced on his head. I tiptoed my way across the smattering of shells to say hi, avoiding the jellyfish littering the shore.
As I dodged another blob, I sighed for the millionth time. Eight years I'd stood on this beach. Never, not once, so many jellyfish.
"Where do you think all these came from?" I asked, scanning the water, the horizon, and then pointing with my toe. A little irritated. Upset. Not quite the picture I'd had in my head.
Shrugging, he stooped down to give the jellyfish a good look. "The ocean," he said, tossing his boogie board down on the water.
And off he went. No over-analyzing. No disappointment.
No worry.
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