My new dressing goal is to make little kids and babies smile at

The words of Liz Goldwyn shine with a radiant joy: “My new dressing goal is to make little kids and babies smile at all the bright, clashing colours I can wear at once. It makes me laugh when I catch sight of my own reflection—life is too short not have fun!” At first they speak of clothing, of bright colours, but beneath them flows a deeper truth: that the human soul, weighed down by the burdens of time, must never forget the sacred art of play. The cloak of joy is more valuable than robes of gold, for it warms not only the wearer, but all who gaze upon it.

The meaning here is simple, yet profound. To dress in clashing colours for the delight of children is to embrace the foolish wisdom of life—the knowledge that laughter is more precious than dignity, and joy more enduring than fashion. Goldwyn reveals to us that even in the mirror, where so many seek perfection, she finds instead laughter, a reminder that self-delight is the first step toward delighting others. This is a defiance of vanity, a turning of the gaze from how others judge to how one’s heart rejoices.

The ancients, too, treasured this truth. Recall the festival of Dionysus, where the Greeks, usually so solemn in philosophy and politics, would cast aside their seriousness to don masks, sing, and dance in riotous celebration. They understood that the human spirit, without moments of release, becomes brittle and cold. In their revelry, they were not escaping life but affirming it—declaring, as Goldwyn does, that “life is too short not to have fun.” Their joy was not frivolity, but survival.

To make children smile is among the noblest of goals, for children, unspoiled by calculation, respond to joy with pure hearts. They do not measure beauty as adults do, nor weigh dignity against decorum. They see colour, and they laugh. They hear silliness, and they sing. In seeking their smile, Goldwyn aligns herself with the oldest wisdom of humanity: that the innocence of the young is a compass pointing us back to what truly matters. To live for their laughter is to live for the future itself.

There is also here a lesson in courage. For it is not easy to step into the world clad in bright, clashing colours, inviting the gaze of strangers. Many shrink behind muted tones, fearing judgment, longing for invisibility. But to dress boldly, to live boldly, is to proclaim, “I am not afraid to be seen in joy.” This courage awakens others—first the children, then perhaps even the adults whose own playfulness has long been buried. One act of colour can stir a chain of smiles across many faces.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the fleeting nature of life itself. Time, swift as a river, sweeps us toward the sea of death. To wait for perfect moments before choosing joy is to risk never tasting it. The ancients would remind us: death comes soon enough; therefore, let life be lived fully while it is ours. Goldwyn’s words echo this truth—why not laugh at your own reflection, why not become a walking festival of colour, why not brighten the day of a passing child? For each small joy is an offering to eternity.

Thus the lesson is clear: seek joy deliberately. Do not wait for it to find you, but weave it into your days. In practice, this means daring to wear the colours that lift your spirit, speaking words of kindness that bring laughter, and embracing silliness without shame. For the measure of a life well lived is not how dignified one appeared in photographs, but how many smiles one left in one’s wake.

So let these words be your guide, children of tomorrow: let your life itself be a garment of bright colours, stitched with laughter, worn with courage. Make others smile, make yourself laugh, and let the world know that you chose joy over fear. For indeed, life is too short not to have fun—and those who remember this truth walk not in sorrow, but in the light of eternal youth.