“Cinderella dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss her fella. Made a mistake. Kissed a snake. How many doctors did it take? 1-2-3-4-5-6…”
This childhood chant came flooding back to me recently, pulling me into a vivid memory of jumping rope at 7 or 8 years old. My cousin and I weren’t concerned about Cinderella’s romantic mishap or the peculiar snake encounter. We were completely absorbed in the rhythm of the rope, the challenge of counting higher—“7-8-9-10”—and the friendly competition to see who could jump the longest. It was pure, unfiltered presence.
I remember those beautiful summer moments with crystal clarity. We were having fun, living fully in each heartbeat of the present.
The Elusive Present Moment
Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us that “life can be found only in the present moment.” Yet as adults, we seem to have lost this childhood superpower. We fixate on past regrets and future anxieties, missing the only moment that actually exists—right now.
The entertainer Lorna Luft captured this beautifully: “Children have a way of forcing you back into the present moment.” They don’t just invite us into presence; they pull us there with irresistible energy.
My niece is my greatest teacher in this regard. A few months ago, as I picked her up from school, I offered her the typical adult menu of distractions: music, conversation about her day. Instead, she chose to sing. What followed was a completely improvised performance about healthy food, friends, sunshine, family, and somehow Barbie—all backed by my questionable beatboxing skills.
When she finished, we both screamed “Yeeaaah!” with wild enthusiasm, then burst into uncontrollable laughter. I couldn’t tell you why it was so funny, but we laughed until our sides hurt. In that moment, nothing else existed. We were purely, completely present.
The Contagious Nature of Presence
During a recent family visit, I watched my parents transform around my niece’s energy. They’d complain about being exhausted, wondering aloud where she got all that boundless enthusiasm. Yet I saw how she reawakened something in them.
Every few hours, she’d make a beeline for my father’s lap, ignoring his reasonable suggestions to sit on the couch instead. As he played games on his phone, she’d watch eagerly, sometimes joining in. He’d tickle her, she’d giggle and demand “Again! Again!” And I watched my father embrace her infectious energy, becoming present himself.
My mother taught her to hula hoop during that visit, and my niece mastered it with typical childhood determination. On our last day, we witnessed an epic hula hoop competition between grandmother and granddaughter. Both participants declared victory—I called it a tie. But the real victory was watching my mother become a child again, twirling with pure joy, fully alive in the moment.
The Wisdom of Letting Children Be Children
Sometimes my niece slips into “little adult” mode, fantasizing about her future career options: scientist, singer, or teacher. When she asks me what she should choose, I tell her not to worry. “Just be the best kid you can be right now,” I say. Inevitably, she returns to her natural state—present, engaged, and fully alive in the only moment that exists.
Children don’t just model presence for us; they remind us of our own capacity for wonder, joy, and complete engagement with life as it unfolds. In their eyes, we can rediscover the gift we once possessed naturally—the ability to live fully in the beautiful, fleeting, precious present moment.