That moment when you finally understand a book you read 15 years ago

is epic.

I picked up The Little Prince when I was in elementary or middle school, because it looked like something age-appropriate for me: a story with pictures scattered throughout. Right? Clearly a children's book.
Um, no. I mean, I read it. I understood all of the words and the pictures. A guy, who can't draw very well, meets a little prince of an asteroid. The little prince left the asteroid because his Rose--which he had watered and protected--told him he needed to be wiser, He meets several strange characters in his journeys, learns how to tame a fox, and is willingly bitten by a snake at the end of the story because the snake told him that he sends all individuals back to where they came from. But I thought it was a really lame story because the Rose that the Little Prince loves is NOT the most unique flower as she claims, the fox does NOT stay with the Prince, and in the end, the Little Prince dies.

Why so much sadness??????

So when Melissa invited me to see The Little Prince opera with her, I was unsure how this story could provide much material for orchestral works.
This is where adulthood can add so much richness to life.
The opera nearly made me cry, and definitely gave me goosebumps.
I can look at the Rose's mediocrity and say, "That's okay. She doesn't need to be the only one in the Universe. She just has to be the only one for the Little Prince."
I can feel the ache of the separation of friends and say, "The time spent befriending the Fox was still valuable, because she taught him that relationships develop where you put your time, and that time is more valuable than money."
I can face death and say, "That's okay. Death only kills bodies. It has no power over memories, and no dominion over souls."

It is, in fact, ironic that I understand this particular story better as an adult, because throughout the opera, the Little Prince re-iterated that grown-ups are weird and peculiar and don't understand things that are truly serious.

Well, I think epiphanies are serious.
And I had one.
As an adult.
Just a few moments ago:
Happiness seems to thrive in childhood, and sadness seems to plague adulthood. Take both in hand, and you reach the maturity that usually graces old age. In other words, the sadness is more poignant because I knew happiness, and the happiness seems more sweet because I know sadness.

And now I can appreciate the book.