There comes a moment in life when the fear of getting older begins to feel almost universal. The dread of time moving forward, of entering new stages, of becoming someone we barely recognize. I hear it from friends, from strangers, from people who whisper that adulthood feels like a kind of loss. But as I’ve grown and reflected, especially through the lens of The Little Prince, I’ve realized that what we are afraid of isn’t growing up at all. What we fear is forgetting—forgetting who we once were, the things that shaped us, the way we used to see the world before life became crowded with responsibilities and expectations. Growing up happens naturally, without effort. Forgetting happens slowly, almost invisibly, until we look back one day and realize that the child who once lived so freely has grown so distant.
Many of us read The Little Prince when we were young. We absorbed the story without feeling the weight of its lessons. Yet as we get older, the book seems to return to us, asking if we still remember the truths it tried to teach. The famous line “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye” changes as we do. What once sounded like a pretty idea now reads like guidance for adulthood, a reminder that life’s deepest meaning is not something we can measure, categorize, or prove. It asks us whether we still believe in invisible things such as love, imagination, wonder, sincerity, and joy. It also asks whether we still remember how to see them.
When I think about growing up, I do not fear the years themselves. I fear losing the ability to look at the world with the clarity I once had. As children, we don’t reduce things, we expand them. We see mystery in small places. We see possibilities everywhere. A drawing is not a hat, it is an elephant inside a snake. A star is not just a star, it is a reminder of someone we love. But as we get older, the world begins to pressure us into “seeing realistically.” We become efficient instead of curious, practical instead of imaginative, and cautious instead of open. It becomes easy to look at life and see only its surfaces, never its depths. This is the kind of forgetting that scares me. The narrowing of vision that makes the world feel smaller than it truly is.
The Little Prince also teaches us that this forgetting is not inevitable. Antoine de Saint-ExupĂ©ry himself was not a child when he wrote the book, he carried years of experience, responsibility, and hardship. Yet he still managed to write something that feels like a conversation with the heart. His age did not erase his imagination or tenderness. If anything, it allowed him to articulate the very thing he feared losing. His life shows that growing older does not have to mean outgrowing wonder. We might all reach adulthood, but not all of us lose the ability to grow in the ways that truly matter. Some people’s hearts stay open. Some people keep their softness. Some people continue to see elephants inside snakes, even when the world insists they are just hats.Â
What so many of us fear is not the passing of time, but rather losing parts of ourselves. We fear forgetting our families, our traditions, our childhood favorites, the dreams that once felt close enough to touch. We fear becoming too busy to notice the beauty that once stopped us in our tracks. We fear waking up one day unable to reconnect with the person we used to be. And it makes sense, because life is demanding and consuming. It becomes easy to get lost in its rhythm. We rush through days without absorbing them. We start valuing only what is visible, tangible, and measurable. Without meaning to, we allow the invisible parts of life (the parts that make it worth living) to fade into the background. But remembering is possible. Remembering is an act of intention. It requires choosing to look beyond what the eye can see and returning to what the heart understands. It means slowing down long enough to notice joy where we once overlooked it. It means nurturing relationships with the same tenderness the Little Prince gave to his rose. It means honoring the parts of ourselves that remain untouched by time, the sense of wonder, the desire for connection, the capacity to love deeply and without calculation. As long as we hold onto these things, growing up does not diminish us. It shapes us.
Saint-Exupéry’s story suggests that we will all grow older, but only some of us will continue to grow inwardly. Those who grow inwardly do not forget. They carry their younger selves with them, lovingly. They let their memories guide them instead of allowing life to narrow their vision. And because of that, they live not only with maturity, but with fullness.
In the end, The Little Prince reminds us that growing up is not the problem, forgetting is. The world becomes small only when we stop seeing with our hearts. But as long as we remember the invisible truths that shaped us and the wonders we used to find in ordinary things, we will be alright. We will grow into adulthood without abandoning the beauty that once taught us how to live. And perhaps the greatest comfort is realizing that the child we fear losing is not gone. They are simply waiting for us to look inward again.