Have you ever stopped to watch a child play? What if you could return right now to a moment in your childhood — a moment where you played without any rush for the future and without worrying about the obstacles around you — what would that image represent?
October always arrives bringing sweet memories for me. I think I’ve gotten used to waiting for social media profiles to change this time of year, watching profile pictures turn into childhood photos — a tradition sparked by Children’s Day, celebrated in Brazil on October 12th. I don’t know about you, but I love this transformation.
Here in New England, the transformation happens through the multicolored trees. It is a true spectacle of colors blending orange, yellow, red, brown, burgundy, and green itself. Autumn here is extraordinary — breathtaking! And it doesn’t happen overnight: this transformation comes little by little, day by day, impressing us in the details.
“Almost everyone I encounter these days feels he or she has too much to handle and not enough time to get it all done,” notes David Allen in his book Getting Things Done.
Sometimes I ask myself: do we have time to watch a child play or observe the transformation in nature? If we pause for a moment, can we feel that impact within ourselves and inhale the fresh air, bringing peace and contentment even in a moment of stress and anxiety?
In this rush to do everything at once, we end up forgetting the simple and the beautiful. We overcomplicate even the uncomplicated. We run in an attempt to reach tomorrow, without knowing if it will truly come. And in this relentless pursuit, we lose the opportunity to live in the here and now.
The other day, I made a video call to my sister Schirley while driving to work. I pointed the camera toward the road so she could see my route. My intention was for her to feel what I feel when driving down the highways: the charm of being surrounded by the magic of the multicolored trees.
That moment was unique because today it makes me wonder what it would be like if we analyzed all of this through the lens of a child. We could live every moment without rushing and be surprised by discovering what lies past the curve.
Adults overcomplicate everything! Hardly anyone has time to wait for what comes after the curve. We create the illusion that we control everything, drawing straight lines with inflexible deadlines, perfect plans, and down-to-the-millimeter calculated goals.
But nature around us doesn’t work that way — and it gives us a daily lesson.
The leaves here in New England don’t fall in a rush; they change color slowly, in their own time, transforming the landscape around us into a fascinating spectacle.
That is how we should live: without the blind urgency for tomorrow. Even if we need to make plans and solve problems, we can do so without the illusion of trying to control the unpredictable.
Simplifying adult life isn’t about escaping into the past or dodging responsibilities, but choosing to face today without the heavy armor of perfectionism. It’s about seeking lightness in our step, authenticity in our actions, and opening space in our chest to breathe. It’s remembering that, just like when we were kids, scraping our knees is part of learning how to ride a bike.
So, the next time anxiety tries to take over your routine, don’t try to solve the entire world all at once. Just hold hands with the child inside you, smile at the unknown, and adjust your balance to keep pedaling.
Tell me: when was the last time you paused for a few minutes to contemplate something beautiful (like nature or a fond memory) without thinking about your to-do list?
