I'm often, almost daily, reminded of how bogged down in details we grown-ups get. Something happens when we get older, and we lose our ability to see through that small, kaleidoscopic lens that makes up almost the entirety of a child's field of vision. I notice this most often when I'm around T., who sees the world as such a brightly colored, positive, sunny, place. She's my glass-is-always-half-full child, whose spirit refuses to be daunted by mundane setbacks and petty concerns. If we tell her she can't do something because there's no time, or it's impractical (how boring of us!), or we don't have the right materials she'll find a dozen different ways to prove us wrong.
When she's wounded she'll carry that wound deep down, but cover it with good things to help it heal. She's a loyal friend, who comes back again and again to people who maybe haven't been quite as kind to her. She wants to see only the good in people. I love this about her, but I worry, too, because I know that it's not so easy to see the good around you as you get older, and wiser, and that lens cracks and slips and you begin to see the world in different ways. People take advantage of you too if you're like T., and you give yourself too freely. She reminds me of my grandmother, and my sister, too--someone who, like T., steadfastly refuses to see the bad in people.