inner child

“Vrrrrrrroooom,” I sang as we bustled about the kitchen. My childlike enthusiasm elicited laughter.

“Get revved up!” Dad replied. Fast forward through the short drive to our destination and getting bundled up. Snow pants? Check. Boots? Check. Jacket? Here’s a pink one. Helmet? Here’s a pink one. Pink gloves? Got ’em.

“They put me in all pink,” I scoffed. Sam burst into laughter, agreeing that I looked like a child.

“I feel like an eight year old girl!” I exclaimed.

Mom giggled, “You look cute!” Oh well, I thought. I suppose there’s something kinda cute about this matching getup. Time for snowmobiling!

As we began gliding atop the freshly fallen snow, my eyes wandered in awe. I admired the way that Mother Nature had adorned the path and trees with powdered sugar– a delicious sight. The air was fresh and cold. Snowflakes floated through the one-inch gap of my helmet visor, landing on my lashes. Clumps of snow cascaded from the evergreen branches, and winter’s confetti sparkled above our helmets. Magic.

As I leaned into the throttle, releasing myself of the often worried and too-serious Melissa, I replayed Joanna Gaines’ story in my mind. 20 mph. In her most recent book, The Stories We Tell, she shared how her inner child was unleashed when she recently put her roller skates back on. 28 mph. She shared that she often takes life too seriously herself. That’s me, I thought. 32 mph. A smile escaped from my lips as I unleashed my own inner child. 40 mph. I now felt like eight-year-old Melissa (on the outside dressed in pink and on the inside of my heart). Eight-year-old Melissa rode around on a scooter, raced down hills in roller blades, and pedaled her bicycle with little fear. On Saturday, that fearless piece of me took charge of the snow mobile.

“Every time I choose fun over fear, play over performance, vulnerability over perfection, it feels like a homecoming. Like I’m coming back to myself after all these years.”

— Joanna Gaines

For just a little while, I let go of the overwhelming weight of worry that I carry with me in my adulthood. For just a little while, I reignited joy in my (now) not-so-favorite season. My mind transported me back to a time when I loved the winter. I recalled the swish, swish, swish of my snow pants, fondly remembering the climb up the neighborhood hill and tubing until my rosy cheeks were cool-to-the-touch. My neighbors and I would pile into the kitchen prepared to top our hot cocoa with Fluff mountains. We’d glide across the ice rink (built with love) in our shared yard or huddle up in Dad’s awesome igloo. As kids, we embraced the winter months.

On Saturday, I re-embraced winter. On our way back, my eyes wandered in awe. I admired the way that Mother Nature had adorned the path and trees with powdered sugar– a delicious sight. The air was fresh and cold. Snowflakes floated through the one-inch gap of my helmet visor, landing on my lashes. Clumps of snow cascaded from the evergreen branches, and winter’s confetti sparkled above our helmets. Magic. On Saturday, that pink getup was just right. I embraced my inner child until my rosy cheeks were cool-to-the-touch. It felt like I was “coming back to myself after all these years.”

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