Recovering Permission To Go Anyway

​I have always marveled at Elliott's eyes in this baby picture. Less than a day old, and his eyes are staring the world down. As if dreaming of chasing down all that can be seen.

Babies do that, don't they? If they see it, they chase it. It's why we parents lock cabinets and put 'do-not-ingests' on the highest shelves.

But at some point, for most, the chasing stops.

I've wondered lately, what happens first. Do we stop seeing, do we stop having visions, or do we lose the courage to go after what we see?

I think I believe it's the latter.

Baby Elliott's 12-hour old seeing involved no analytics. There is no calculation in his gaze. There is no memory of disappointment. No voice whispering, "Careful." There's simply seeing followed by going. Instinct. As if vision is all the momentum one needs to take a step.

What changes? Trust?

Do we start attaching footnotes to what we see?

Yes, but last time...

Yes, but who am I to think....

Yes, but I know how this ends.

I don't think vision ever goes away, but belief does. And without belief, seeing can become cruel rather than inviting. So we protect ourselves - not by closing our eyes, but by staying put.

I've always loved the innocence in this picture of Elliott. He hasn’t learned yet that going can cost you something. He hasn’t learned to wrestle with fear. He hasn’t learned that going sometimes leads to more hiding than chasing.

I don't think we all need to return to our baby picture age of innocence. But I do think many of us need to recover some permission in our lives.

Permission to go again, even with scar tissue. Permission to believe that failure doesn't need to blur our vision, it can deepen it. Permission to trust that what we see now isn't foolish just because something else didn't work before.

Elliott could see, but he really didn't know where he was going. He just knew life was moving toward him and he was allowed to meet it.

I've learned, in no small part from being a dad to a baby, that growing older isn't about seeing less. It's about learning, slowly and courageously, how to go anyway.