Think Like A Kid

“You might as well take it seriously! You could get really good at it.”

Let’s generalise about kids a little. They’re loud, hyperactive, messy and, more often than not, little trouble-makers. They say what they think, do what they want (at the very least they try to) and generally go about life without a care in the world other than that what’s in front of them. Let us now generalise about adulthood. Things change, that’s obvious. We have a hundred and one open tabs in our heads which we are constantly worrying about, and a thousand and one background-running applications taking up more processing power than there is available. It means saving up for a holiday only for the boiler to break, incessant bills, telemarketers every other day, and still having to reassure our parents that we’re doing great. Jobs, careers, friendships, relationships… It makes sense that we can’t revert to being kid-like once we’ve stepped over this invisible threshold. Sometimes, however, it’s worth going back to thinking like a kid.

“Couldn’t you be doing something more useful with your time?”

I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been told this as an adult when doing things I find enjoyable. Want to hear another top-of-the-charts hit?

“Isn’t that meant for kids?”

To put it into context, these were both in reference to playing video games and bingeing sci-fi TV shows with Shrimpy - on my days off. Other times I’ll tell my mum I’m painting again and she hits me up with the classic “why don’t you pair that up with art classes?” or when I say I messed around on the piano for half an hour I get to listen to the familiar “is that really enough? Why don’t you get a teacher?”

My mum is a kind, loving and very supportive person, and although she might be a little pushier than some, I still feel it’s a common trait of adulthood to wonder if we’re making good enough use of our time. Doing ‘pointless’ activities seems wasteful because of the little spare time we have at our disposal (this being said, how many evenings are spent scrolling through Netflix and rewatching ‘Friends’ for the hundredth time?). If we read, it should make us smarter. Films should be enlightening. Sports should be taken seriously. Video games are not even on the table at this point. It feels like we should strive for improvement, always. And quitting? Not an option. You don’t like the book you started, too bad, you should see it to the end. Half-way through a painting you’ve lost love for? You committed to this project, and so you should finish it. Puzzle almost completed but you realise you’ve lost interest? Unless you finish it, won’t the time you’ve already invested have been a waste?

I understand a lot of this thought process is probably particular to me. As someone with perfectionism and anxiety, it’s easy to see where I’ve developed these destructive thought-patterns and how I’ve been trapped by them for so long. However, I don’t think it’s all that far removed from reality. How many times have you seen a grown person draw a stick figure with purple hair and yellow eyes and simply enjoy doing it? I see so many adults taking art classes, so focused on drawing like the adult they feel they have to be, or musicians who worry that it’s inappropriate to write silly songs about cats and snails now that they’re over 25. We no longer hold up our wonky ceramic pots proudly after we’ve finally gone to that pottery workshop gift we got last year. As an adult, it seems like it’s embarrassing to try something new and not be immediately amazing at it. We’re grown-ups. We should know how to do things and do them well. We have that capacity. If we’re going to do something, we should do it right.

This mindset stopped me doing a lot of things. My gaming hours were plagued with guilt. I no longer painted. I no longer played the piano. I stopped writing because if I wasn’t writing to get published, if I was only writing for fun (how dare I!), “couldn’t I be doing something better with my time?”

Turns out? No. I couldn’t. Doing something for the simple joy it gives you? It’s not only enough; it’s necessary. I love my playstation - it engages me, I love admiring the work that goes into each game, and in all honesty, I thrive off the escapism it gives me. I play the piano again; I pick the three most common chord progressions I can find, and sing a song which neither rhymes nor flows (it’s usually about cats or dinosaurs). I paint again. I go on Instagram, I find an image I like, and I try and replicate it. I’m painting for me, I’m painting because I enjoy it, and I don’t need to channel Picasso to do this. I can take my own steps, slowly, taking inspiration from those who may be further along, or in places that I’m not even trying to reach; these days it feels that there is so much pressure to be completely and immaculately individual from the get-go, to stand out before we’ve even taken our first breath. It took me some time to realise that this pressure is a thief of freedom and creativity: it robs us of the opportunity to learn from others, to lay down the foundations from which our individuality can truly grow. After 29 years I can finally say that I’m just proud that I sat down and made something - something that didn’t exist before but now does because of me.

“Why can’t I think like a kid?” I used to wonder as I watched my nephews jump from one thing to another, draw a purple giraffe, jump onto their lego blocks, go back to drawing and add an orange hippo with a longer neck than the giraffe. And I realised… I can. My nephews watched me draw a wonky square and colour it in in different colours, and all they said was “cool!” and they started scribbling away at their own squares. And before I’d finished it, I abandoned it on the table, with the other mountains of drawings, because it was time to play hide and seek in the garden. It felt good. I found myself excited to draw a different kind of wonky square next time we were all sat at the colouring table. Because that is enough. And I am learning: I’m learning to do things for no other reason than the fact that I enjoy them. I’m learning to have fun without a goal in mind. It’s tricky sometimes, but I’m definitely getting better at it. I no longer default to watching Netflix because I feel if I draw, or if I play, something amazing has to come of it. Now I will start painting a boat, and if it all goes wrong, if I stop feeling it, if I decide I don’t want to finish it? I move on. On to the next thing. On to the next thing that makes me happy. Being an adult is hard enough: we should remember it’s ok to revert to the simple kid-like enjoyment of things every now and then.