Her feet pounded the ground, dried grass splintering against her heels. The sun streamed down on her red cheeks as she slowed and looked up. In the distance she saw birds circling. Then she ran.
Every day she spent running, fighting, and laughing, and every night she came back home to sleep. She is my inner child. She’s an adventurer, a believer, and a runaway. But I believe in her. I believe in my inner child.
My inner child lived for adventure. Some days this meant going to battle. My brother would join us then and my inner child and his inner child would go to war. They would create an enemy to fight and spells to fight them. He would strategize and she would scout the enemy. Finally, they would attack, him swinging dual swords and her singing spells of protection.
And every night when she’d won the battles, she would come back to sleep. She always won, and she always came back.
My inner child didn’t win because she fought well (those chubby arms and lanky hands couldn’t hurt anything). She won because she believed in the power of good to conquer evil. She knew how to look at something bad and see the good it held. I remember one time I looked at a fallen tree and saw death. She whispered to me “it’s a fort, see?” And when I saw trash floating in the creek, she saw treasure needing a treasure hunter. She taught me to see that there was good in the world.
And every night when she’d made the world a happy place again, she’d come back to sleep.
But there were nights when she didn’t come back. On these days I couldn’t see the beauty in the world. A tree was just a tree. Trash was trash. These days I became this thing we call an adult. Finally, she quit coming back at all. I ached for her to return. When I ran outside and felt tired, I ached for her fighting spirit. When the world felt heavy, I ached for her stubborn belief that life is good.
Some days she comes home. Sometimes I walk through a forest and hear the chatter of fairies, or see a gnome in the brush. In these moments, I know she’s come back. She’ll never be back for good, I know that. She’s grown up and moved on as much as I have.
But I still believe in her. I believe in the child whose feet were bare and legs scratched, all summer long. I believe in the child who sees beauty in the plain things and goodness in the broken things. I believe in that same, elusive girl who runs away.
But I believe in the fight to get her back. I believe in this adventure called life where we should never let her go. I believe in her coming back to me every night. And if she doesn’t, I believe in running after her with all I have.
Because I believe in my inner child.
She Played in the Grass 