By Yassira Huarcaya
We live in a world where everything moves fast, almost on autopilot, and we’re constantly asked to stay one step ahead. That rhythm contrasts sharply with the world seen by the youngest Pumas of Tinkuy, the Explorers.
A simple visit to the park turns into a grand adventure when you’re three years old. Everything around you feels enormous, new, and fascinating, and you’re allowed to move at your own pace. In the end, the real adventure isn’t arriving at the park, but the journey to get there.
Leaving Tinkuy “on their own” is already a privilege: a small event that lights up their faces. They walk together hand in hand, not holding mine, but I stay close, just in case they need me. The path, however, belongs to them.
Suddenly, a cobblestone ramp appears. They climb up and down, smiling as they go faster. A little farther ahead, they spot a trail of ants moving in a neat line. They stop, wide-eyed, amazed by such tiny travelers. We continue on, and in the distance we can already see the Spark Pumas, our usual park companions. Turning the corner, we meet them again: another moment of wonder, another burst of joy.
Then comes the narrow sidewalk, a challenge that quickly becomes an adventure. Between stumbles and climbs, they discover puddles, splashing and sparkling. One by one, they test which one splashes more, what happens when they jump hard, and what happens when they jump softly. Before reaching the end of the sidewalk, they find a snail. They watch it closely, touch it gently, and ask if it’s still alive. They laugh and shout with delight when it moves.
Only twelve minutes have passed since we left Tinkuy, a walk that takes older Pumas five minutes and adults barely three. Yet these twelve minutes have become a journey of discovery, wonder, and calm. Twelve minutes in which, as their companion, I allowed myself simply to be: to watch, to enjoy, without hurry.
At first, my adult mind worried we’d take too long, that there wouldn’t be enough time to play or explore, and that maybe I should have brought the black stroller. But I chose to pause, to forget what seemed important to me and just walk beside them, at their pace.
How good it feels, sometimes, to step out of autopilot and take a moment to see the familiar with new eyes. I wish we could all, for just a few minutes each day, recover the energy, curiosity, and sense of wonder of a small child. Finding that presence isn’t always easy… but sometimes, slowing down is exactly what we need.
