Bus journeys provide lots of opportunities for people watching, people listening, and space sharing (depending on how much Christmas shopping they’ve been doing). Today’s moment for my box of delights was seeing a little girl sitting on her mum’s knee.
She was maybe about 2. Dressed quite like mum, though not a mini-me. A chance to see what she might look like when she gets bigger, but still her own little person. And she sat very still, and smiled. With her whole face.
When I think about it, her mouth didn’t smile, but the effect was like all of her was smiling. I think it’s the freshness in younger children’s faces. They can simply be looking straight ahead, but they haven’t yet learned to be coy, or shy, or bored, or a host of other feelings. They are simply themselves, fully in the moment.
Lots of kids draw attention to themselves on buses: talkingtalkingtalking, banging windows, kicking the seat in front, all the favourites. She drew attention to herself by being perfectly still, and perfectly herself. For at least 5 minutes.
Lots of grownups love gaining kids’ attention on the bus: pulling smiling faces, nodding, waving back, and so on. I don’t know whether she caught anyone else’s eye or not. But she had my attention: because she was looking at the world in the way I would like to.
Not hiding. Not confronting. Not dissembling. Just being alongside it, and in it, and fully part of it – and fully something much softer than the world.
Firstly, we need to remind ourselves to stop, and look around us. Then we need to look in a way that suggests we really do see the world. As much of it as we need to. More of it than many. Not so much that we take in what will do us harm.
I am sitting here tonight, hoping she enjoyed the rest of her journey, imagining where she and her mum were heading to. I am grateful for the evident peace in her life – the peace that, in turn, spilled into mine this morning.