Lake Stevens

I was walking toward the end of the dock when she ran up behind me and announced, with great pride, “I have sixteen boo-boos on my legs.” Before I could respond, the six-year-old launched herself off the dock, water wings and all, disappearing into the lake below.

I was far more cautious, easing myself down the ladder instead. Glacier-fed lakes are usually freezing, but that day the water was just cool enough to feel refreshing rather than teeth-shattering.

The little girl and her younger brother swam circles around me, their bright blue eyes framed by long, soaking-wet lashes. She did all the talking, breathless and animated as she treaded water, while her brother nodded along solemnly, his wide grin never leaving his face. From her cheerful chatter, I gathered that her collection of boo-boos came mostly from mosquito bites, forest scrapes, and the inevitable tumbles of childhood.

They climbed the ladder one after the other, then leapt off together, landing beside me with a splash before popping back up, giggling. Their delight was infectious. I felt my own sense of joy rise to meet theirs.

Being around them brought me back to summers of my own—long days swimming in the Pacific Ocean with my older brother, building sandcastles on the shore, utterly absorbed in the moment.

I remember the tickle of sand crab legs against my fingertips as I scooped up gritty handfuls of sand to add to my carefully constructed fortress, fully aware the sea would soon wash it all away.

That simple cycle of building and losing was entertainment enough for hours.

It’s the joy of a cold popsicle or a dripping ice cream cone, a bike ride around the block, or a summer afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing. The small things we loved without thinking about them. The things we somehow forget we loved.

Later that night, I made chocolate chip cookies. I dipped one into a glass of cold milk while it was still warm and savored that first bite—the crisp edge, the soft center, the chocolate melting against my tongue.

And I thought about that little girl jumping into the lake without hesitation, sixteen boo-boos and all.

Maybe growing older isn't about losing that kind of joy. Maybe it's simply remembering to notice it.