This is photographic proof that I once didn't give a shit about anything. I was eight years old.
Twenty one years later, questions about childhood bliss begin to surface. Could I live with this kind of childish freedom as an adult? What is holding me back? Do "grown-up" social expectations hold me back from being truly happy? Does caring about what other people think keep me from personal freedom? Would freedom from these expectations make me truly happy?
Most importantly, am I able to make choices now that can restore my own personal freedom?
I am delighted in 8-year-old Kristen. She didn't have to ask these things...the only thing that kept her awake at night was the arrival of Santa Claus.
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