Learning to Become a Kid Again

December 2024.

The month I started to remember what it felt like to be a kid.

After months of trying to rebuild, hustle, plan, and “figure it all out,” I realized the one person who seemed to have life completely dialed in… was my six-year-old son.

While I’d been busy trying to control, fix, and force everything, he was over there living with curiosity, courage, and zero shame about asking why every five minutes.

One day it hit me — that’s what I’ve been missing.
Not another book, not another plan, not another podcast.
What I needed was to learn from the purest teacher I had: my boy.

So that became my new mission — to learn from him how to find the kid inside me again.

Sounds simple, right?
But simple isn’t the same as easy.

See, I’d spent decades doing what I was told — by parents, coaches, girlfriends, bosses, and eventually my wife. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being curious. I stopped playing. I stopped listening to the part of me that wondered, What if?

So I started watching my son differently — really observing him.

How he laughed like the whole world was in on the joke.
How he could get lost in building Legos or exploring a trail.
How fearless he was when something new caught his eye.
How quick he bounced back after falling, like it never even crossed his mind to quit.

Through those quiet moments of watching, I realized he was teaching me — not through words, but through example.

He was showing me what authentic joy looks like.

And somewhere in the middle of that, I started laughing again. Not forced, not polite — real laughter that came from the belly. The kind that feels like oxygen after you’ve been holding your breath too long.

By the time I moved into my new apartment, that became my mission for the next chapter of my life:
Find my inner child through curiosity and courage.

To live like the man I want my son to remember — not the one who taught him fear, but the one who showed him how to wonder.

Because maybe becoming a man isn’t about growing up.
Maybe it’s about finally learning how to be a kid again — but this time, with wisdom.

From the Sidelines to the Trampoline

Watching my son at the trampoline park is like watching a masterclass in courage and connection.

He walks into a room full of strangers, takes a quick look around, and then — boom — he’s in it. No hesitation, no fear, no overthinking. He just walks up to another kid and says, “Hi! Wanna be friends?”

And just like that, he’s got one.

Every time I see it happen, I can’t help but think… when did we lose that?

When did “Hey, you seem cool — let’s hang out” turn into awkward silence, judgment, and waiting for someone else to make the first move?

Is it fear of rejection?
Fear of being seen?
Or just the lie we buy into as adults that says, “Friendship is for kids — we’re too busy for that now.”

But here’s the thing — I don’t want to live like that anymore.

So I made a decision:
From now on, I’m not gonna be the “too busy to make new friends” guy.
If I get the opportunity to connect with someone, I’m taking it. I’ll start the conversation. I’ll make the move. I’ll say “Hey man, you seem like good people — let’s grab a coffee.”

That’s the kid in me learning how to lead again.

And while I was watching my son jump, laugh, and live in full color, I noticed something else — most of the parents weren’t jumping. They were sitting on the sidelines, scrolling their phones, watching their kids live life while they stayed still.

And I thought, Nah… not me.

So I jumped.

Literally.

I started bouncing around with my son, laughing like an idiot, trying flips I had no business attempting. And man — it felt good. Like really good.

After that, I started walking past those parents on the benches, smiling and saying, “It’s okay to jump and have fun with your kids. Let’s go!” Then I’d take off into the park again, leading by example.

And you know what?
More often than not, those same parents would turn around, buy the jump socks, and join in.

Watching them light up — that was the best part.

Maybe I didn’t walk out of there with any new best friends, but that’s not the point. Maybe the whole purpose was just to spark something in others — to remind them that it’s okay to be present, to play, to laugh, to live.

Because the world doesn’t need more people watching from the sidelines.
It needs more people willing to jump in.