Lessons from a carefree toddler

On a cold January day I drove straight from church to the Mockingbird to have a bowl of soup.

This downtown Staunton restaurant has live music for Sunday brunch. It is a little noisy. Not everyone is there to hear the music. Some pay no attention whatsoever, but not the toddler in the high chair.

This kid listened to every note. She (I think it was a she) alternated between bouncing up and down and swaying side to side. She had a good sense of rhythm. Of course, she couldn’t resist that age-old toddler game of throwing her hat to the floor and when she got it back, throwing it to the floor again, but when her mother decided to shut down that particular source of merriment, she made no objection. She had her music.

I saw no adults bouncing, swaying, patting feet, or otherwise using their bodies to engage with the music. We are loath to draw attention to ourselves. Unlike the toddler, we are self-conscious and aware of people looking at us. A polite clapping is the best we can do. That and a generous tip into the tip jar on the way out the door.

The Shenandoah Valley is a safe place for introverts in a country that celebrates extroverts. How many times have I stood at the door of a Presbyterian church at the end of a service I have conducted as a guest preacher, the people file past because it is the custom. They shake my hand, but a lot of them look as though it is an embarrassing and onerous duty best gotten out of the way. (Also, I have noticed an astonishing percentage of Presbyterians with blue eyes.)

Not all Shenandoah Valley people are shy, of course, but shy people can fit in and not be seen as defective. It is not the land of glad-handlers and backslappers. You don’t have to do that here. For shy people it is a tremendous relief.

I have no idea where the toddler is on the extrovert-introvert continuum. She was in her own world and aside from her family seated with her, she was blissfully unaware of the rest of us except for the musicians. From their perspective she had to be the most appreciative member of the audience. Food was almost beside the point for her. It was the music that moved her body and soul.

For a moment I envied her. She didn’t know it is an election year. She was living completely “in the moment.” If she threw her hat to the floor, someone else would pick it up. Then I remembered she still had adolescence ahead of her and wore a diaper. The envy dissipated.

But I do suspect I could use a little of what came naturally to her, moments of abandon to the pure pleasure of music, dance, the beauty of the woods, a sunset or even savoring a really good cup of coffee. We all know this. We also know we should eat right and exercise and spend our money wisely, but the glitch comes in the doing of it.

The toddler helped me. I hitched hiked on her enthusiasm. She watched and listened to the musicians; I watched her and listened to the musicians.

The soup and the music were good. It was a lovely, brief respite from work and the noise of this political year. But, it was the toddler that multiplied the effect. Thanks, kid.