In 2021, I was on a swing with my wife at Lilayi Lodge.
Laughing. Completely lost in the moment.
Halfway through, still holding the rope, I asked her: “Is this how kids feel?”
I wrote about that moment trying to answer a question: when am I happiest?
The answer that came to me: Happiness is being a kid.
Letting go. Not monitoring. Just being present.
At the time, it was discovery.
But in 2023, my daughter was born. And now, almost three years later, watching her play, I see what I was describing.
She is not trying to be happy. She just is.
That swing moment? I was stumbling back into what she lives in naturally.
The Wedding Test
I see it in adults sometimes.
At weddings. Someone standing at the edge of the dance floor. Music playing. Body wanting to move.
But first, they look around. Check who’s watching. Calculate whether it’s safe.
Then, if the conditions are right—they finally let go.
For the next ten minutes, they’re the funniest, freest person in the room.
Until the song ends. And the self-consciousness comes back.
That hesitation before the dance floor. That’s the thing.
Not the dancing. The checking.
What Happened
Somewhere between being a kid and being an adult, we learned that joy needs permission.
I don’t know exactly when it happens.
Maybe school. Maybe work. Maybe just being told over and over that play is for children.
But somewhere along the way, we started monitoring ourselves.
Checking if our happiness is appropriate. If our laughter is too loud. If our excitement is justified.
Kids don’t do that.
They don’t check before they laugh. Don’t think “I’ve been happy for too long, maybe I should stop.”
They just are.
We used to be that way too. Before we learned that adulthood means performance.
Where the Kid Still Shows Up
You’ve seen it.
At football matches. Grown adults screaming, hugging strangers when their team scores. No self-consciousness. Just pure reaction.
At team buildings. Titles disappear. Everyone plays together. No boss. No hierarchy. Just fun.
Even after a few drinks.
I’m not advocating for alcohol. But I’ve noticed: it doesn’t create freedom. It just lowers inhibition.
And when the inhibition drops, you see how much self-monitoring we carry the rest of the time.
The kid is still there. We just built a gate around him.
Mindolo Dam, 2016
My wife and I had our first date at Mindolo Dam.
There were swings. We played on them. Both of us. Laughing like kids.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Just a fun moment.
But looking back now, I see what happened.
First dates can be tense. Everyone performing. Trying to make the right impression.
The swings did something. They let us be kids without knowing it.
No performance. No checking. No monitoring.
Just two people on swings. Completely present.
And maybe that’s why the first date went so well.
The Pattern
Once I saw it—once I named it in 2021: happiness is being a kid—my wife and I started building our life around it.
We plan outings differently now. When we see a location with swings, it tilts our decision.
We installed a swing at home. We sit there sometimes just to relax.
Not because swings are magical.
But because we figured out something simple: If you know what makes you forget to monitor yourself, create your environment around it.
For us, it’s swings.
For others, it’s different.
I know someone who gardens. Gets lost in it for hours. No phone. No checking the time. Just hands in soil.
I know someone who fixes broken gadgets. Tablets. Phones. Offers to do it for free. Because it takes him back to childhood. Making wire cars. Figuring out how things work.
For some people, it’s playing music. Or cooking. Or hiking. Or dancing. Or building things.
You already know what it is.
The thing that makes you lose track of time. The thing you loved as a kid that you stopped giving yourself permission to do.
The thing that makes you forget to check if anyone’s watching.
The Gate
Here’s what I’ve been learning:
The reason we need weddings or football matches or team buildings or drinks to access that feeling is because those are the moments we give ourselves permission to stop performing.
The kid doesn’t need permission. He’s already there. Just behind the gate.
The gate is self-consciousness. The constant monitoring.
Will people think this is childish?
Am I being appropriate?
What will they say?
That’s the gate.
And most of us spend most of our time on the wrong side of it.
What I’m Sitting With
In 2021, I was on a swing asking: “Is this how kids feel?”
I wrote trying to answer when I’m happiest. The answer: being a kid.
At the time, it was discovery.
Now, watching my daughter, it’s confirmation.
Yes. That’s how kids feel. Every day.
Because they haven’t learned to monitor themselves yet. Haven’t built the gate. Haven’t started checking.
We can feel that way too. We already do—in the right moments.
The question is: why are we waiting for those moments instead of creating them?
Life is serious enough. Work is real. Responsibilities matter.
But happiness doesn’t need permission.
It just needs less checking.
Leave a Reply