Abandon

I watch my daughter be completely absorbed in Pac-man. The world disappears as her little yellow video character gobbles up dots as fast as her hands can move. She plays with complete abandon.
 
I watch my son as he plays Minecraft, for a time completely absorbed in its block-ish world. He too plays with sheer abandon.
 
As I watch them, I find myself wishing I could do something--anything--with such abandon. For me, however, that abandon comes packaged with the feeling that I am abandoning my responsibilities, abandoning the family members and other people who need me. I may marvel at how they can lose themselves to these or other pursuits, even just briefly, but it is rarely a trip I can take myself.
 
And then I realize that while I may never really be able to abandon my responsibilities, there actually are moments and days when I step away just a bit. When I let myself enjoy a weekend, when I allow myself to sleep a little longer or eat a little more--perhaps this is my version of "abandon." When I break into song, or compose a blog post while standing at a bus stop, that is my version of "abandon."
 
We can't always have a child's freedom to step away, but when we embrace the experiences that come our way, we can feel a bit of that child-like abandon. And sometimes, allowing for a little abandon doesn't make us abandon our responsibilities at all. It simply returns us more able to face those responsibilities. And face the creepers or the ghosts or whatever it is that tries to block our path.