Pet the Goat

Yesterday, we went to the state fair.

There is something about the fair that turns me into a big kid.

I know I walk around with a silly grin on my face. I pet all the animals. I eat corn dogs and popcorn and all sorts of things that probably don’t qualify as a balanced diet. I strike up random conversations with complete strangers. I collect stickers. I buy souvenir T-shirts.

For a few hours, I just live it up.

And I don’t think about much else.

No articles to finish.

No deadlines to meet.

No rehearsal to plan.

No emails to answer.

No list of things I should be doing.

I just... am.

And somewhere between the livestock barn and the corn dog stand, I realized something:

Maybe kids aren’t necessarily better at living in the moment because they’re kids. Maybe they’re better at it because they haven’t yet learned how to live anywhere else.

Think about a little kid at the fair.

A kid doesn’t walk past a cow while thinking about tomorrow’s schedule.

They see a cow.

And they want to pet it.

They don’t eat cotton candy while worrying about whether they should be answering emails.

They eat cotton candy.

They don’t walk past a booth selling some ridiculous souvenir and think, I really don’t need that.

They think, That’s awesome!

And sometimes, I think adults could use a little more of that.

One of the strangest things about being an adult is how rarely we are actually where we are.

We’re eating dinner and thinking about tomorrow.

We’re driving to work and thinking about the meeting.

We’re watching television while scrolling through our phones.

We’re on vacation and worrying about what happens when we get home.

We’re sitting with someone we love while mentally making a grocery list.

Even when nothing is particularly wrong, our brains seem determined to find something else to work on.

There’s always a next thing.

The next appointment.

The next deadline.

The next bill.

The next email.

The next rehearsal.

The next problem to solve.

And don’t get me wrong. Those things matter. Responsibilities are part of being an adult. We can’t simply wander through life eating corn dogs and petting goats.

Well... I suppose we could, but I’m not sure the mortgage company would be particularly understanding.

But maybe we don’t have to carry all of tomorrow into today.

We hear a lot about mindfulness these days.

Meditation. Breathing exercises. Being present. Disconnecting from our phones. Mindful eating. Mindful walking.

And I think there’s a lot of value in those things.

But yesterday reminded me that sometimes being present doesn’t have to be complicated.

Sometimes it’s just paying attention to where you are.

Yesterday, I was at the state fair.

So I was at the state fair.

I watched the animals. I listened to the sounds around me. I talked to people I had never met. I laughed. I ate things I normally wouldn’t eat. I admired things I had absolutely no intention of buying.

I let myself be interested in whatever happened to be in front of me.

And for a few hours, my brain wasn’t six steps ahead of my body.

It was right there.

That’s a pretty good feeling.

And I think there’s something genuinely healthy about it.

Not because the fair magically solved all of life’s problems. It didn’t.

The deadlines were still there.

The responsibilities were still there.

Tomorrow was still coming.

But for a little while, I wasn’t responsible for tomorrow.

I was responsible for right now.

And right now happened to include a corn dog.

There’s a phrase we often use: “I wish I could be a kid again.”

I’m not sure I actually want that.

Being an adult has some pretty wonderful advantages. I like making my own decisions. I like having the freedom to go to the state fair whenever I want. I particularly like being able to decide that a corn dog is an acceptable dinner without having to ask permission.

What I think I miss isn’t childhood itself.

It’s the ability to be completely absorbed in a moment.

Kids can do that.

Give a child a puddle and they don’t need an explanation about the weather. They need a pair of boots.

Give them a cardboard box and they don’t wonder why you didn’t buy them a better toy.

Give them a puppy and they don’t think about how much time they have before they have to leave.

They are there.

Completely.

And maybe that’s something we can relearn.

Maybe living in the moment doesn’t mean becoming irresponsible.

It doesn’t mean ignoring the future.

It doesn’t mean pretending our problems don’t exist.

It simply means that sometimes, we allow the present to be enough.

I think that’s what the state fair gave me yesterday.

Permission to be a little ridiculous.

Permission to grin.

Permission to talk to strangers.

Permission to collect stickers I don’t need.

Permission to buy a T-shirt I probably don’t need either.

Permission to eat popcorn.

Permission to stop thinking about what comes next.

For a few hours, I wasn’t a pastor, a writer, a musician, or a person with a list of things waiting to be accomplished.

I was just a guy at the fair.

And apparently, that guy really likes goats.

Maybe that’s one of the simplest gifts we can give our mental health:

Every once in a while, stop trying so hard to get somewhere.

Look at what’s in front of you.

Taste the popcorn.

Listen to the music.

Talk to the stranger.

Laugh at something silly.

Pet the goat.

And for a little while, don’t worry about what comes next.

Just be where you are.

Because sometimes the healthiest thing we can do isn’t to fix ourselves, improve ourselves, or accomplish one more thing.

Sometimes it’s simply to remember that we’re already here.