# 11 Things We Should Learn from Children 1. The Art of Living in the Present A child doesn't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. She lives fully in this moment. Her joy is immediate, her sorrow quick to pass. We adults spend half our lives mourning what's gone and half anticipating what's to come. Meanwhile, the present—the only real time we have—slips through our fingers like sand. A child teaches us that life happens now. 2. Curiosity Without Judgment Before the world teaches them what to fear, children ask questions about everything. Why is the sky blue? How do birds fly? What's inside that box? They don't ask to seem clever. They ask because they genuinely want to know. As adults, we've learned to be suspicious, to assume we already know. We've mistaken cynicism for wisdom. A child reminds us that wonder is not childish—it's alive. 3. Forgiveness That Doesn't Calculate A child quarrels with her friend in the morning and by afternoon they're playing again as if nothing happened. There's no scorekeeping, no conditions. Forgiveness, for a child, isn't a magnanimous act—it's simply the natural return to connection. We adults keep ledgers. We demand apologies that sound right. We say we've forgiven but we remember. A child teaches us that holding onto anger is a choice, not a necessity. 4. The Courage to Be Yourself Before shame finds them, children are themselves without apology. A girl sings loudly though she's off-key. A boy dances though his feet don't follow the rhythm. They speak their minds, wear what they like, laugh at their own jokes. We teach them to be smaller, quieter, more acceptable. Then we spend years trying to recover that original boldness. A child knows something we've forgotten: there is freedom in being exactly who you are. 5. The Power of Play A child doesn't play because it's productive. She plays because playing is life itself. Through play, she learns, creates, imagines, becomes. We've separated play from work, relegated it to leisure—something we earn after we've been serious enough. But a child knows that play is where the spirit lives. In play, we're most ourselves and most alive. 6. Enthusiasm That Needs No Justification A child gets excited about a stone, a puddle, a button. His enthusiasm is pure fuel, not yet tempered by the question: "Is this worth being happy about?" We've learned to be sparing with our joy, to save it for appropriate occasions. A child teaches us that enthusiasm isn't wasteful—it's the very thing that makes living worth doing. 7. Honesty That Comes Before Politeness A child will tell you that you look tired, that the story was boring, that she doesn't like what you cooked. She hasn't yet learned that truth must bow to comfort. This can be mortifying, yes. But it's also liberating. A child reminds us that authentic connection requires honest words, even when they're awkward. 8. The Ability to Ask for Help A child asks for help without shame. She doesn't see it as weakness but as the obvious path to getting what she needs. We adults have learned that asking for help is somehow a failure, that we should manage alone, that needing others is burdensome. A child knows better. She knows that asking is how we stay connected, how we grow, how we survive. 9. The Belief That Things Can Change A child assumes the world is malleable. She believes she can learn to fly if she practices. She thinks a sad person can become happy. She assumes that rules can be questioned, that things can be different. She hasn't yet accepted the world as fixed and unchangeable. A child teaches us that possibility precedes reality. 10. Presence With Another Person When a child listens to you, she really listens. She's not already thinking about what she'll say next or checking her mind for something more interesting. She's simply there, fully, receiving you. In a world of distraction, a child offers the rare gift of complete attention. She reminds us that presence is the deepest form of love. 11. The Permission to Start Over A child fails and tries again without the story of failure sticking to her. She doesn't narrate herself as "someone who can't do this." She simply tries differently. We adults carry our failures like stones. We build identities around them. A child teaches us that every moment is a chance to begin again, that our past attempts don't define our future possibilities. --- Perhaps the greatest thing children teach us is this: that growing up doesn't have to mean growing smaller. That wisdom doesn't require the surrender of wonder. That to live fully is to keep something childlike alive—not childish, but childlike. Open. Curious. Forgiving. Here.

March 4, 2022 4 min read By Sushanta Paul

We strive to be the best teachers for our children. We guide their first steps, show them how to tie their shoes, help them resolve their conflicts. We become so absorbed in the role of mentor that we forget there's a whole world beyond it. Yet sometimes, it's worth turning the tables—learning something from our children instead. And it turns out they have plenty to teach us.

Rise when you fall.
Think back to how many times you've given up after a single failure, then watch how relentlessly children pursue new skills. Learning to walk is no small thing—it's a trial of falls, tears, and scraped knees. Yet children don't surrender so easily. If they fail the hundredth time at something they truly want, they'll make the hundred-and-first attempt. Do the same.

Treat each day like an adventure.
See that spark in your child's eyes when they wake up? A new day stretches before them—full of wonder, brimming with possibility. No one knows what marvels might unfold. Now look at yourself in the mirror. Counting down to Thursday, dreading Sunday's return, is no way to live. Try to find or notice something new every single day.

Be here, be now.
We adults are forever counting—counting down to the weekend, to spring, to holidays, to retirement. Children live in the present moment and find endless reasons to rejoice in it. When your mind lingers in the future, you forfeit everything the present offers you.

Let yourself feel.
Children cannot hide their emotions; they release tension swiftly and move on to joy again. There's a reason we speak of "childlike delight." Allow yourself to feel what you feel—to weep, to rage, to laugh freely. You'll be astonished at how much weight you shed.

Choose honesty.
Children's unfiltered words can embarrass their parents, yes—but therein lies the gift: their world is simpler because of it. Dare to speak your truth. It may shake things up, but it will clear the air around you.

Say what you want.
Once you commit yourself to honesty and speaking your emotions openly, do not neglect to tell yourself and the world what you truly desire. How often do you pause to consider this? Children cry out their wishes without hesitation, yet we deny ourselves even the rights we've earned. We shrink from claiming what is rightfully ours.

Be curious.
Children marvel at everything, asking questions without end. They do not trouble themselves with whether knowing how an engine works will prove useful. They simply wish to understand the world around them. Do the same—do not fear stepping beyond what you know. The world brims with mystery. Stop pretending indifference.

Ask.
We tell ourselves that the one who asks does not go astray, that no question is foolish—only foolish answers exist. Yet fear silences us. We nod along to names we don't recognize, pretend we've seen films everyone discusses, bluff our way through conversations. But shame passes. When we shed it and speak honestly, something shifts: the questions we ask become doorways to genuine connection. And confession of ignorance, strangely, draws people closer than any pretense of knowing everything ever could.

Never stop learning.
This follows naturally from the two before. Once you allow yourself curiosity and give yourself permission to ask, then listen—truly listen—to the answer. Grow. Dare new things. Test yourself. Children are forever learning, about the world and about themselves.

Smell, taste, touch.
You scold a child for putting things in their mouth, for touching what they shouldn't. Yet this is how they know the world. Do the same. When last did you taste something unfamiliar, smell the leaves of a strange tree, run your hand across a cloth that pleased you? Do not let your senses grow dull and sleepy.

Don't waste your time on what doesn't move you.
You give your child a wonderful toy. Five minutes later, it lies forgotten in a corner. Frustrating, yes? Yet this is wisdom—a kind of self-respect. If your work drains you, seek something else. If running bores you, do not do it because fashion demands it. You have only one life. Do not squander it on things that leave you empty.

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