Sometimes I take my friend Susan to the grocery store. She doesn’t have a car, and I don’t like the thought of her trudging around town on the bus with her boxes of chicken broth and bag of apples splitting the sides of her Trader Joe’s handled totes. I have to go grocery shopping anyway, I would explain to her, mostly to make her feel better about the courtesy shopping shuttle.

Truth is, I might not need to go shopping, but I would want to offer this service anyway. When we do go out for groceries together, I will generally pick up fewer items. I’ll often zoom through the aisles only to find myself on the other side of the check-out waiting for her to evaluate her options and finish up at the register. I know she feels she has to hurry her browsing, but I don’t mind having this time. It’s private AND public time.

I will often find myself sitting in the sunlight near the cart corral and automatic doors. I’ll let my eyes roll over stacks of local ad papers or bulletin boards where customers give shout-outs or voice complaints. But mostly, I like to sit and people watch.

The other week, I took Susan to Whole Paycheck. I picked up a couple lemons and some Greek style yogurt, which I had missed on my previous day’s shopping excursion, and was sitting at the front of the store waiting for Susan to make her rounds. I zeroed in on a little girl, maybe around five or six. Her feet were planted along the edge of her mom’s shopping cart while she hung her body over the basket. No doubt, she liked the thrill of using her own weight to keep things in balance and not tip the cart over. Her eyes were laughing and her mouth was open most of the time I watched her.

She spent a long time in the produce section. She took time to check out all the different colors of apples but was cautious about pulling any out lest she unintentionally level a carefully built display. She walked ahead of her cart, looking for food to sample I think, but made sure her mother was always in sight.

She had such a sweet face. Not kiddy pageant perfect, but so open. No agenda. No grudges. Her skin was smooth. Her eyes twinkled. Her eyebrows naturally came together over the bridge of her nose when she made an expression. She was so animated, and, as she babbled about her observations, she didn’t seem bothered by whether she had her mom’s full attention or not.

There is something so wonderful about looking into the face of a child. It doesn’t really matter if they are at a grocery store or in a park, at a baseball game or sitting on a bus. It doesn’t matter if they are wearing shorts and tank tops or if they’re bundled in parkas with only a few inches of their faces exposed.

If you look at a child’s face, it always seems like they’re having an adventure.

And I think I like to look at children’s faces just to remember this; that regardless of whether an activity is on a to do list or is simply a happy accident, any undertaking can be done with a spirit of adventure.

How fortunate for me that the world is full of such faces. The possibilities to have such moments are endless. The child does not have to be my child or even someone I know. All children belong to me.

Remembering your own sense of adventure through a child’s face is no small thing.