“When was the last time you felt a moment of unadulterated child-like joy?” When my therapist asked me this question, it was difficult for me to come up with an answer. I looked back on the last few years and realised that I’d had far fewer of these moments than I’d have liked. Not that every moment has been without joy, but there were few moments where, for once, I would feel like a kid again: happy, free, unconcerned, living totally in the moment, and appreciating the present for the gift it is. I could scarcely think of an example, except perhaps one.

I was in Rome, and after a lovely dinner with someone special (as well as my fair share of wine), it was time to head back for the night. I must admit, I probably shouldn’t have done this, but no matter: to get back, rather than call a taxi, we decided to rent those electric scooters* that litter the streets of the Eternal City. (*These are stand-up scooters with a motor attached to them, like the kind of scooter a kid would play with. I don’t mean something like a Vespa or anything.) I mean, they are everywhere. So, we rented them, and started on our way back. If you haven’t been to Rome, you’d know that the traffic can be pretty brutal. I like to joke that Italians are either the best or the worst drivers in the world because they must be quite good to get to their destinations in one piece, but also bad in that the streets are chaotic, maybe even anarchistic. And for the better part of an hour, we were scootering alone the sides of these Roman roads, enjoying the rush of beauty, adrenaline, and joyful cheers that came with it. I can’t say that anything more was on my mind apart from how fun it was. I felt like a kid again! I felt worry-less… I felt free… I felt captivated… and, for the time being, I felt wholeheartedly alive. Looking back on that moment, I realised that it’s the happiest I’ve been in years, yet it was so small a thing.

Already I can hear the cries of objection that may arise from what I’m about to say. People will say that you have to grow up, that the child you were should be replaced by some rigid agent of moral, fiscal, and worldly responsibility. To a certain extent, I can appreciate this: there are things one must do when they grow up that require a mature and rational mind. These are not poor qualities in and of themselves, but is this all life is? Is life nothing but a series of obligations and “oughts” and “musts” that one must satisfy; and if this is so, to what end? This is the trouble with the “adult world”: as we polish our LinkedIn profiles, doing our best to look sensible and respectable, we forget how insensible our everyday world actually is. There is not necessarily a rhyme or reason to everything, if anything at all, and there is no grand conspiracy at the top that directs our best efforts to some glorious purpose. In most ways, we must discern these things for ourselves, but this is a daunting question: “What am I doing? What is this all for?” This person has lost far more than the “why” for his existence: they have lost the sense of life’s intrinsic worth on its own terms.

What is one to make of life itself, if what is sensible has, in fact, revealed itself to be insensible at best, or perhaps even nonsensical at worst? Few can fathom that something so pointless can, in fact, be so joyous as a child can. So, if there is no point, rejoice in the goodness of pointlessness. Love something for its goodness, not for what it has done, does, or promises to do. If life is lived otherwise, it’s hardly a life lived at all. A machine can do many tasks, but only a human being can admire it. So, if we lose our sense of admiration, our sense of child-like wonder and attachment to life, what do we gain? More concerningly, what do we become? We become inhuman in our humanity.

So, I suggest that it is worth reconnecting with that inner-child, if you have lost them because they would understand better than you do how to appreciate life not as some game but as a gift. That’s why I sometimes watch children’s movies from when I was young, and as I watch them, I think about how much I’ve changed since the first time I saw it. I’ll think of how that young boy will grow a great deal, and yet, there are ways in which he didn’t grow at all. Underneath all I’ve become, he’s still there somehow. And whether I admit it to myself or not, he can understand and appreciate life in a way that perhaps I need to be reminded of. That, my friends, is why I call it the venerable exercise of watching children’s movies.