She stands on the ledge of the fountain. I give her a penny and tell her to throw it in and make a wish.
“What’s a wish?” she asks. (She’s two.)
I say something like, “A wish is something you want. Think of something that would make you really happy and wish for that.”
“Oh, okay!” she says, excited about the concept. (My wish is that you could hear how she says “Oh, okay!” when she learns something new. It’s adorable).
Then she immediately looks around at what she has. The doll sitting in her stroller that she got to bring from home, the penny in her hand, the sucker I just used to bribe her…and she wishes for that.
Same routine, every time. “I wish fooor….my doll!” “I wish fooor…a penny!”
“Is there anything you don’t already have that you want to wish for?” I try to clarify.
She’s thoroughly confused. Why would she want what she doesn’t have when it’s so much easier to want what she does have? Why not wish for what’s already right there?
And this reminds me of how über enlightened Byron Katie says the same thing in more sophisticated words. How do I know what I want until I see what I have?
Katie and Willow know what’s up. Freedom is wishing for and wanting what you already have.
I wish to be married to my husband.
I wish for peace of mind and moments of deep spiritual connection.
I wish for lots of stressful-seeming stuff to come at me so that I can learn to focus on what’s important. So that I can practice finding that calm place in the face of external chaos.
I wish for girls’ days and football season and a baby who is inching closer to sleeping through the night.
Voila…got it. All of it, just like that, instantaneous. That’s the way it works when you want what you already have.
What do you wish for?