My daughter will turn one soon. Lately, she has been taking her first wobbly steps, holding both her arms up while walking, or clapping, or carrying whatever is in sight with her. It is an exciting time for my little warrior. No wonder she has been in a sunny mood most of the time.
My husband and I have been going to the playroom almost every evening with her for a couple of months during the harsh Hong Kong summer. Today however, as another typhoon receded, I went back to the trails in the morning, hiked to the Discovery Bay Reservoir, and did a half-hour run near the water. It felt as lovely as what I remembered – I still hiked over the past year, but running has been a distant memory (a memory of ten years ago, those loops around The Morning Trail on The Peak or six years ago, in Rock Creek Park in Washington, D.C.).
What I realized today was that this must be what my daughter feels every day recently, and hopefully what she will continue to feel throughout her toddler years. These new steps are confidence builders, just as exercises are for adults. Yet most of us adults don’t exercise nearly enough, certainly not in the way toddlers challenge themselves every day. There is no surprise that a sunny disposition is not a default among adults.
There are writers who have drawn book-length analogies between running and writing. I’m wondering a lot about this these days surrounded by one-year-olds. The early walkers are often late talkers, and the early talkers are often late walkers. Toddlers simply don’t have the capacity to focus on both tremendous tasks at the same time. Therefore, the first struggles between independent exploration and social communication have already started at this delicate age. Some even say that we can already tell toddlers’ budding personalities based on where they are on the spectrum at this stage.
Later in life, does the physical instinct subside more than the verbal one, when we become more used to it and more “civilized”? Which instinctual achievement of the two builds more reassuring confidence? I think it is important to keep reminding ourselves of those trials and joys in the beginning of life. And for certain people, the untamed physical spirit, especially. I remember years ago, when I was still reading Haruki Murakami’s books, that his description of running every day to get rid of the toxic energy from writing left an impression. Now as I think about running (walking) and writing (speaking) in the context of the tug-of-war among toddlers, I feel that I have finally come to touch the crux of the matter.
Writers are usually wary about words. A good and ethical writer certainly is. But not many voice their concerns out much or discuss much openly, like fruit sellers do not mention the fruits’ expiration dates or talk about their glucose levels. In Murakami’s case, he only alluded to it briefly before halting, just enough for the writer’s conscience and not too much to harm the writer’s creditability. I used to work in investments, where financial products had disclaimers for prospective investors. For products of words, on the other hand, prospective readers just plunge in without necessary warnings from a young age. And what a thing for a new mother to think about today!
Well, I’m certainly going back to the trails very soon, with the age-old wisdom – increasing exposure to one thing will help keep the indulgence in another in check. And like my daughter, I know that I reveal the new possibilities within the body. One important question is still left though: as one reluctantly moves towards middle age, what if instead of keeping up as we so desperately want to, our bodies start to fail us? What if as we all know, but do not want to admit, we are essentially Benjamin Buttons returning to jerky movements and all cries before the oblivion? That’s something more to think about on the trails, I guess. At this very moment, I know that I will only do the best I can.
Flora Qian is the author of South of the Yangtze. She lives in New York with her husband and daughter.