There is a video of a three year old girl opening a present. She has a tuft of white blonde hair clustered in a ponytail, and her mother hands her a box with a ribbon. It is too big for the contents, which turns out to be nothing but a paperclip. Shiny, pink, I admit. Still, nonetheless a mere paperclip. A hundred in a box for a buck. If I were walking on the street and passed one I would not trouble myself to bend down for it. 

 

But the girl gasps when she sees it, and holds it to her neck as she sighs.

 

"Thank you, Mama."

 

"What are you going to do with it?" her mother asks. 

 

With a bit of suspense, she answers. "I... am going... to play with it." 

 

Then she shakes the box and the paperclip goes flying. In a rush, the girl searches until she finds it again. She retrieves it with joy.

 

"It is my favorite."

 

Gratitude can sometimes seem like a learned response. Yet this child has it in spades. 

 

How can we get back to that place where a curve of metal, or a sprig of chamomile, or a fuzzy caterpillar are all it takes to experience wonder? 

 

 

 They do not have a character acquired from love of self and the world. They do not credit anything to themselves. All that they receive they attribute to their parents. They are content with the little things they are given as gifts. They do not worry about their food and clothing, and are not anxious about the future. They do not pay regard to the world and covet many things on account of it. They love their parents, their nursemaids, and their little companions, and play with them in a state of innocence. They allow themselves to be guided; they listen and obey.