Without reading a single book on happiness, Elena knows the secrets:
Every sound is interesting. So is every bug.
You're so at home in yourself that you cuddle up with people, teddy bears, and blankets--sometimes with your two sleepy fingers in your mouth, twisting your hair, watching a movie about horses.
You pick up chickens. You aren't afraid. You ride your horse at the rodeo.
You know what you like--and nobody need try to convince you otherwise.
"Is there anyone you don't like?" I ask.
"No," she says. Then she remembers a little girl who's been mean to her lately. She doesn't like her. "Me and Mommy think she's a brat," she says.
"She'll probably grow out of it," I say.
"I guess so," she says doubtfully.
So today we went to the museum of Central Market. We tasted samples of food and bought her a watermelon slice and blueberries and macaroni and cheese for lunch. Then we spent a good half hour looking at flowers. She was fascinated by lilies and irises and roses and carnations. We brought home a few and she helped me arrange them in vases.
Seeing the world through a five-year-old's eyes makes me see everything as if for the first time. Hanging out with this five-year-old makes me happy every time.
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