This weekend, when my granddaugher Taylor had her first ballet recital at the ripe old age of 3, I expected to be charmed. She and a bevy of little classmates were predictably precious as they twirled and pointed their toes.
But it was at the family celebration after that I most loved watching her. Like the other tiny dancers, her participation had entitled her to a little plastic trophy. My grown-up brain had dismissed it as so much hype. I was wrong.
“Yay for me!” she said, And climbed on her chair, held the trophy high and beamed.
When we clapped, she went for an encore.
And why not? For a solid two hours, she’d waited patiently backstage – no tears – for her few minutes of fame, then danced out and given it her best. It was a moment worth celebrating and savoring, and she knew it.
Somewhere between age three and age 23, 33, 43, 53, 63….some of us lose that powerful ability to celebrate and savor. We don’t like tooting our own horn. When we accomplish something, we just check it off the list and move on to the next.
We could take a lesson from Taylor.
