THEY USED TO RUN

There was a time when dandelions didn’t make it past childhood.

A kid would spot one from across the yard like it owed them money.

Everything stopped.

Game abandoned.
Snack forgotten.
Siblings temporarily forgiven.

They’d sprint toward it like destiny was on a timer.

Grab it.

Close their eyes like they were negotiating directly with God.

Deep breath…

Pfffft.

Gone.

Seeds everywhere.
Wish launched.
No follow-up questions.

Because that’s how kids operate.

Reckless hope.
Immediate action.
Zero concern for outcome.

Just belief… with lungs.

But I noticed something the other day walking Rosie in the school field behind my house. A whole field of dandelions.

Standing.

Waiting.

Unbothered.

Like they finally unionized and negotiated better working conditions.

And the kids? They weren’t running.

They were… passing through.

“Hang on.”
“Wait.”
“After this.”

“After this” has become the most dangerous phrase in the English language.

Because “after this” rarely arrives.

And if it does… it shows up tired, distracted, and holding a phone. The dandelions just stood there.

Perfect little worlds… untouched.

Like unopened letters from a version of life that still believes in magic for no reason at all.

And it hit me… We didn’t just lose the habit of making wishes. We lost the instinct to stop.

To interrupt our own lives for something small, meaningless, and somehow… everything.

Kids used to run toward wonder like it might disappear.

Because it does. Now we walk past it like it’ll wait.

Like it owes us time. Like we’re in charge of when magic happens.

We’re not. We never were.

Magic has always been on a short leash. So maybe the goal isn’t to teach kids to slow down. Maybe it’s to remind ourselves how to run again.

To see something fragile and fleeting and completely unnecessary…

…and treat it like it matters more than whatever we thought we were doing.

Because one day we will be the thing standing still.

Quiet.
Waiting.
Hoping.

Not for success. Not for more time.

Just for one person…

to notice.

to stop.

to come running.

…and believe… even for a second…

that we were worth a wish.