dandelion-field-palatine-film-2I have chosen to take an interesting approach to this adventure we call life. It’s hard some days, I’m not normal, I don’t have money to fuel my every whim, or structure to catch me when I fall. I’m different. I see. Thinking all day long about adult things, what you have to have done will make you miss what is going on around you. I have the privilege and the pleasure of being surrounded by special individuals, people who show me what life is truly about. It’s all about perspective, and the moment that it changes. I was sitting at my sister’s concert for high school, she was there performing for choir, but the drama, and the band were preforming as well. She was towards the end, so I got to experience the whole thing. It hit me. My sister is significantly younger than I am, so I have been fortunate enough to watch her grow up. I have seen how she has changed and evolved, and as I sat there listening to the band play, such pristine music, not a mistake to be heard I couldn’t help but frown. Perception. I flashed back to when she was first starting band in elementary school, all of these little faces and hands, struggling to hold the instruments correctly, squirming in their seats at the excitement and energy, little lungs without the capacity to hold long drawn out notes, small fingers that couldn’t preform complex movements, feet that couldn’t reach the ground to tap out the beat. Mistakes were everywhere, you had one child off beat, someone wasn’t tuned, someone sounded like a dying bird. But those little faces, with such determined looks, trying their hardest to get it right, puffing out their chests in pride when it was completed, showing off how great they had become. Which is more beautiful? The symphony with years of experience, drawing each note perfectly, playing the piece as it was meant to be played? Or the determined happy little souls, that just enjoyed the thrill of their hard work. A piece of me was hoping for a squeak throughout the music. Some small sign that innocence hadn’t been completely lost. It only being slightly renewed when I learned one of the pieces the boy played on a tin bowl, one I’m sure he used to beat on many years ago, without a particular beat in mind. I was reminded again by a little love of mine, who shows me often how good it is to be young again. I looked down at the coloring book in my hand at the two pages before me, one I had done myself and the other done by its owner. Mine is correct you see, the grass is green, the sky is blue, the otter is brown, it even has some shading to show dimension! Talent! Skill! Technique! But the one on the other side, the ground is blue, the sky is yellow, the otter is purple, green, red, and pink, no color is within the boundaries, in fact half of it isn’t even completed. Perception. Which is the more beautiful? The more valuable? The one done right, done as it’s told to, the educated one. Or the one with love, and pride, and joy put into it, with no care the judgement to befall it. I was reminded once more in the simplest of ways by the same little love of how perceptions have changed. a small bouquet is shoved into my hands, accompanied by such a cheeky grin, beaming with pride, admiration, love, and one simple saying ‘Pretty flowers’. I smile and then look down. Dandelions. Not a flower at all! A weed, that will soon sprout seeds! It will be everywhere, there will be no stopping it! It will destroy our yards! Pretty flowers, pesky weeds. My only thought ‘When did the Pretty Flowers, become pesky weeds?’ So I put my mind to it! I did research! Why were these flowers considered pesky weeds?? For one, and one reason only. They’re free. We can’t control where they are, they multiply faster than we can handle, and everywhere we don’t want to be. They’re free. My life has been changed forever, I prefer the random squeak from a miscalculated note, treasure the picture with the wrong colors out side of the lines, and wish my bouquet of pretty flowers would last forever. Sometimes, it’s okay not to perfect the skill, or the perception. Maybe, just maybe, it was perfect to begin with.







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