The Right Amount of Focus

I love this photo. Mostly because I love the subjects. I see the beauty of their perfectly formed faces, their bright eyes, and their wild hair. Because I'm their mom, I know that beyond their physical attributes lies strength, curiosity, and innocence. But I love this photo because of what it represents for me, and the fact that the focus isn't quite right is even more compelling.

Even though I might disagree with myself on another day when we're in a time crunch to get out the door, today I say that my girls have just the right amount of focus. They don't agonize over insignificant details, nor are they completely wild and out of control. That's why this photo is perfect - it's not perfectly in focus, but it's not so fuzzy that you can't tell what's going on. They're just having fun. They're being carefree and loving it.

If I try hard enough, can I reach back far enough into my memory bank to retrieve a carefree day? A day when the excitement of simple adventures propelled me forward so fast that I couldn't maintain my balance...and I liked that. A day when no clear focus was required to justify or explain my actions. A day when intellect, organization and "to-do's" were set aside for total sensory experiences and enjoyment.

I remember the days when the point of grassy hills was to roll down them and get as dizzy and as dirty as possible. I remember the days of suiting up in my bikini and rather than going for a swim, riding my bike around the neighborhood looking for friends to ride with me. I remember squealing with delight when I thought I was swinging high enough that I could almost touch the clouds with my feet. I remember the thrill of going so fast on my brother's skateboard that my hair actually blew in the wind.

I don't do those things anymore. Partly because riding my bike around the neighbhorhood in a bikini is likely inappropriate at this age and a bone-chilling thought to boot. But have I forgotten how to enjoy simple things? I think so. At least sometimes. This photo of my favorite girls reminds me that letting loose is fun. It reminds me that it's possible to get too focused, thereby passing up opportunities to see amazing sights, listen to subtle sounds, or enjoy the feel of cold grass on my bare feet.

Maybe losing my footing occasionally doesn't have to be a bad thing. It might be kind of nice to run down a hill and tumble to the ground in laughter again...as long as I don't throw my back out or twist an ankle in the process. Or maybe there's a new way of experiencing life in a half-focused way that could turn out to be just the right amount of focus.