THE BALLOON SELLER

When I was little, I loved balloons.

I loved the colours, the shapes, that almost absurd lightness of something so simple being able to feel so special. There was something about a balloon that, as a child, seemed enough to make a day better.

Today, I still notice them.

But not in the same way.

Now, when I see someone selling balloons, my eyes are no longer drawn so much to the red, the yellow, the blue, or the character printed on the plastic.

I find myself looking at the person holding the strings.

And I start to wonder.

How long have they been standing there?

How many balloons will they have to sell before the end of the day?

Is someone waiting for them at home?

Do they like their job?

How many children have they seen smile throughout the day?

And how many have walked past without anyone buying anything?

It’s curious how, as we grow older, our gaze shifts.

As a child, I saw the balloon.

Today, I also see the hand holding it.

And maybe growing up is a little bit like that.

Continuing to look at the same things, but beginning to see what once went unnotice.