I am pretty sure it is scientifically impossible to look at a baby animal and not smile. Puppies, kittens, baby goats (goatlings?), little calves bouncing around a pasture. I don't care how lousy your day has been, there is something about those sweet little faces and crazy antics that make the world a little better just because they're in it.
We recently adopted the COOLEST little kitten! This guy has brought an incredible amount of joy (and a reasonable amount of chaos) into our lives. His name is Auggie, although I often refer to him as my Little Bitty Auggie Bear, and he somehow managed to fit perfectly into our little family while simultaneously turning our household completely upside down. Everybody loves Auggie, which is fortunate because he has absolutely no intention of being anything other than the center of our world.
He is sweet, snuggly, and sooooo busy! I have never seen a creature so determined to personally inspect every square inch of his surroundings. He is under furniture, on top of furniture, behind doors, inside cabinets, and investigating places I didn't even know existed in our house. If he could pull a Spider-Pig and walk across the ceiling, I guarantee he would do it. I am pretty sure the only reason he hasn't attempted it is because he hasn't yet figured out how to get up there.
The funniest thing about Auggie is his utter lack of fear. Everything is fascinating, nothing is off-limits, and every new discovery is apparently worthy of his immediate and undivided attention. Brad and I spend a fair amount of time watching him explore, laughing at his antics, and occasionally intervening when his enthusiasm exceeds his understanding of gravity. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by these interruptions because he's already planning his next move.
Watching him has made me think about how differently we approach the world when we are young. Babies don't worry about looking foolish, asking stupid questions, or failing at something they've never tried before. They are curious about everything, and they're not particularly interested in waiting until someone decides they're qualified to explore it. They want to know what something is, how it works, what happens if they touch it, and whether they can climb it. In Auggie's case, he's especially interested in figuring out whether or not he can climb it.
Somewhere along the way, we adults get a whole lot more cautious. Some of that is obviously a good thing. Experience teaches us about consequences, and I certainly wouldn't recommend adopting Auggie's approach to electrical cords or precariously balanced furniture. We also become pretty damn good at talking ourselves out of things before we've even given them a chance. We worry about whether we will be any good, what other people might think, whether we are too old, too inexperienced, too busy, or too whatever to try something new. By the time we've finished evaluating all the possible reasons something might not work, we've managed to convince ourselves not to bother.
Meanwhile, Aug has already attempted whatever ridiculous thing caught his attention, probably fallen off something, recovered his dignity (assuming kittens even have dignity), and moved on to his next adventure. I find it refreshing that he's willing to give things a shot without requiring any guarantee of success. I don't necessarily want to live my life with the judgement of a tiny kitten, but I wouldn't mind borrowing a little of his enthusiasm.
The other thing I absolutely adore about this little dude is how completely comfortable he is asking for whatever it is he wants. Once he's finished his household inspection, terrorized a sibling or two, and exhausted himself with the incredibly important business of being Auggie, he comes looking for Brad or me. He is ready for some affection, and he is not remotely shy about making his intentions known. He will climb into a lap, get situated, and settle in as though the entire purpose of our existence is to provide him with a warm, comfortable place to recover from his adventures. Truth is, he's not entirely wrong.
I love how uncomplicated it is for him. He is tired, so he rests. He wants affection, so he seeks us out. He is curious, so he explores. He doesn't spend time wondering whether he's being needy or whether he should be accomplishing something more productive. He certainly doesn't apologize for wanting to be held, and he has absolutely no concern about whether Brad or I have anything else to do. He has needs, he communicates those needs, and the rest of us are apparently expected to adjust our schedules accordingly...and we do.
How many of us are anywhere near that comfortable asking for what we need? I know plenty of people, myself included, who are wonderful at taking care of everyone else and considerably less enthusiastic about admitting when we could use a little help, reassurance, affection, or even something as simple as a break. We convince ourselves we should be able to handle everything, that asking for help is somehow an inconvenience, or that we haven't earned the right to sit down until every last thing on our list is finished. I have no idea when we decided being a responsible adult meant making everything so damn complicated, but I suspect Auggie would find the whole concept ridiculous.
He would probably also be confused about our relationship with rest. This guy can go from a full-speed assault on his jellyfish to being completely unconscious in approximately 7 seconds. There is no transition period, no guilt about unfinished business, and no concern about whether he's made the most productive use of his afternoon. He had his fun, wore himself out, and is now going to sleep.
I've written before about how much I enjoy having a busy, full life, and I meant every word. I love our work, our friends, our family, and the adventures Brad and I get to experience together. I also know I'm not always particularly good at recognizing when I've had enough for one day. There is almost always something else I could be doing, and I am pretty talented at convincing myself it needs to happen RIGHT NOW. Auggie, on the other hand, has mastered the art of giving everything his full attention, including doing absolutely nothing.
Of course, it's easy to be fearless and carefree when you've got two humans making sure you are fed, loved, and prevented from doing anything too CATastrophically stupid. I am not suggesting we abandon our responsibilities, start climbing the walls, or demand someone carry us around whenever we are feeling a little tired. There are days that all sounds amazing, but it's simply not feasible.
I do think we could stand to remember a little more of the curiosity and confidence we had before we learned to question every impulse and second-guess every decision. Maybe we could try something new simply because it sounds interesting, without worrying whether we will be good at it or not. Maybe we could ask for a little affection without feeling silly, admit when we are tired without apologizing, and occasionally enjoy something for no other reason than it makes us happy.
I am not sure Auggie intends to teach us anything, and I am certainly not giving him credit for some profound understanding of the human condition. He is a kitten, after all. His primary interests appear to be exploring forbidden spaces, finding new ways to make Brad and me laugh, and securing the most comfortable lap in the house. There is still something wonderful about watching a little creature experience the world with so much enthusiasm and so few reservations.
I have no idea what he will get himself into next, but I'm reasonably confident it will involve something he is not supposed to touch, somewhere he is not supposed to climb, or an object that's previous purpose has been permanently redefined as a kitten toy. Whatever it is, he will approach it with his normal confidence, and we will be right there laughing, supervising, and wondering how something so little can be so destructive.
Our little Auggie Bear has us pretty well trained already, and judging by how much we adore him, he will always have a warm place in our laps.
