Idealism

I think that being an adult is when growing older stops being about learning and experiencing, and starts being about forgetting and ignoring. The perfect person or world that you envision as a child becomes too inconvenient, so you compromise; then, eventually, your dreams are replaced with routine, getting ahead, and external joy. A world that is far more consistent and reliable. I wonder how much of the adult mindset is enabled by sheer laziness, and how much of childhood is tainted by cowardice. Will a brave child grow into an exuberant adult? How much of our ideal can we retain without become socially retarded? I think just thinking the questions shows how puerile I really am.