There was a time when life felt lighter like the world itself was cradling me. Mornings smelled of fresh green grass, and afternoons carried the hum of Mayas. The only pressing matter was whether I could run fast enough to catch my breath before someone called me back home.
I want to walk on green grass once again. Barefoot. Carefree. Unburdened by the weight of expectations and responsibilities.
Back then, the grass wasn’t just part of the scenery—it was alive, felt magical even. It cushioned my clumsy falls when I tripped, chasing imaginary treasures. It was the stage for endless games of tag and hide-and-seek, and the canvas for our mind-drawn masterpieces.
Do you remember? That feeling of freedom, the tickle of grass underfoot as you sprinted toward nowhere in particular, just because you could?
I close my eyes and I’m there again lying on my back under a clear blue sky, clouds morphing into dragons, swords, and knights caused by my imaginative mind. I can almost hear the echo of my laughter blending with the giggles of friends, our joy unrestrained and uninhibited. We were fearless explorers of a world we believed had no limits. The grass was our anchor, our safe place, and our constant.
But as we grew, the grass seemed to fade, or maybe we just stopped noticing it. Shoes became necessary. We traded the freedom of bare feet for the safety of soles. The playgrounds that once echoed with laughter turned into silent, neatly trimmed lawns we admired from a distance.
And we forgot.
We forgot what it felt like to be untethered, to run without reason, to sit in the dirt without worrying about the stains. We forgot how to see the magic in the mundane.
Do you miss it, too?
Maybe you’ve felt it—that ache in your chest when you see a child running wild, their arms stretched out as though they could catch the wind. Maybe you’ve stood by a park and felt an almost magnetic pull to join them, to let your adult worries dissolve into thin air. I feel it most of the time—a longing to return to a simpler version of myself.
The grass hasn’t changed. It’s still there, quietly growing beneath our feet, waiting for us to return. But we’ve changed. We’ve traded its gentle embrace for stiff shoes and cold floors. We’ve buried our spontaneity beneath deadlines, notifications, and the unrelenting pressure to keep moving forward.
Yet, deep down, the child in us still remembers. That little voice whispers, asking us to slow down, to pause, to halt for a moment, to take off our shoes and feel again. To reconnect with the earth, with ourselves, with the joy we used to know so intimately.
Walking on grass isn’t just a nostalgic wish; it’s an invitation—a way back to who we were and who we could still be. It’s peeling away the layers of adulthood for a while and letting the earth remind us of its softness, its steadiness. It’s feeling alive in the simplest way.
Find a patch of green. Take off your shoes. Sit, lie down, or run until your heart feels light again. Close your eyes and let your surroundings grow quiet. Listen to the whispers of your childhood, the dreams you’ve buried deep down, and the laughter you’ve forgotten to show. Let the grass remind you of a time when you believed anything was possible.
Because it still is.
I want to walk on green grass once again. I want to feel it cradle my steps, to remind me that life doesn’t have to be so heavy. And I think, perhaps, you do too.