I Acted Like a Kid for a Day and My Whole Life Changed

“Where are you from?” the words rolled off his tongue, casually trying to strike up a conversation.

It was the tail end of a mutual friend’s birthday celebration. An all-day event of sorts with offerings that included a group sing-along, arts and crafts, storytime and a play performed by attendees. An afternoon spent embracing the simple, adolescent joys absent from the responsibilities that define adult life, I found myself approaching every interaction with a restored sense of childlike wonder and curiosity.

“To what degree does where we’re from inform who we are as a person? What can we actually gleam about a person based on where they’re from and why?” I answered, increasingly aware of the absurdity that I’d never before considered this.

“We’ll it’s better than ‘What do you do?” he quickly retorted; as if those were his only options.

If every interaction is an opportunity to connect, it’s striking how much we limit ourselves with the content of our communication. There are so many questions that can facilitate meaningful conversations, and yet so often we recycle the ‘safe’ course of inquiry.

Think about the last dinner party you were at, the last social event. How much of your communication inspired real, authentic sharing and how much of it was spent regurgitating route responses- ones you’ve riddled off dozens of times?

Why?

Propriety? Afraid that asking something too personal might make someone uncomfortable? Why are we afraid of sharing? Because it exposes us to being known? What is the real liability in speaking our truth? Insecurities? That it may be different than someone else’s? Fear of being judged?

Now recall the last time someone shared something deeply personal with you, revealed a hurt or struggle, cried. What was your reaction? Did you recoil with judgment or was your instinct to comfort, console, care?

When we speak our truth and give ourselves permission to be vulnerable, we create a space for real connection. The impetus for our feelings and how we emote may vary, but the emotional experience is what binds us all; it is the through-line of humanity.

Anyone that suffered loss knows the all-engrossing, gut-wrenching experience of heartache. The cause may be different, but our suffering is the same. The same goes with anger, frustration, disappointment, love, elation.

Much of our adult lives are spent trying to recapture the qualities that so effortlessly punctuate childhood; wonder, awe, freedom, playfulness, love, openness, joy, excitement, connection.

Maybe it starts with the questions we’re asking.

Kids are honest and unabashed with who they are, how they feel, and perceive the world. The questions they ask can be uncomfortable because they are born from an innocent curiosity that demands the same vulnerability and authenticity in response. What if we approached every conversation from this place? What would change?

Perhaps nothing. Then again, perhaps everything.