There is a boy in my home who moves effortlessly through the world.
When I say effortlessly, it is not to say that everything comes easily for him. He works hard at math and sometimes gets stuck on a vocabulary word, but effortlessly, in his case, means unbound and uninhibited.
He is a boy I will watch, mesmerized, as he breaks out into the silliest dance you’ve ever seen just to make everybody in the room laugh. He is a boy who will blow dramatic kisses, and, when I return them, mime all sorts of obstacles standing in the way between him and that floating-away kiss, making him look like an American Ninja Warrior in training. He is a boy who will turn a succession of forward flips all the way from his room to mine, to say goodnight, and then turn around and do the same all the way back to bed, because he just thought it would be fun.
He is the most uninhibited person I have ever known.
The other day, as he came in to tell me good night, he pretended like he was a zombie, turning his voice airy and squeezed up tight so I could better know what he was emulating. I laughed so hard. He makes my night.
What I love about all of this is that my son doesn’t care in the least what other people think. He moves through his world being who he is, and it doesn’t matter to him, at least not yet, if others think he’s strange or silly or a big clown. He is completely comfortable with who he is, and I know he’s only seven, but there’s so much I can learn from him.
Once we become aware of ourselves, we can’t forget ourselves. I have been aware of myself for a long time. I know I’m a sensitive person who will cry at the least little thing because life affects me profoundly. I know that at any given time in the course of a conversation or an interaction with another person, I have at least two storylines running in my head, and my brain is recording every single tiny detail so I can use it later. I know that when my husband forgets to text me when he gets somewhere he’s traveled, it can set up a whole current of anxiety that will carry me into a deep, black hole.
Sometimes I have apologized for these things I know about myself. I’m sorry I cry so much. I’m sorry I missed that thing you said because I was creating a fictional world in my head. I’m sorry I freak out about everything.
What my 7-year-old has taught me is that we must, instead, embrace who we are. We must move more like children—unbound, uninhibited, unapologetic about all the weird and quirky traits we have. Our weirdness is what makes this world hilarious and interesting and even beautiful.
Here’s what happens when you begin to live an uninhibited life:
- You begin to feel less limited, as if there are endless possibilities for who you are—not a single, neat, taped up box.
- You begin to understand that other people have their own quirks, and when you embrace yours, they have freedom to embrace theirs.
- You begin to love yourself. And that will impact every other area in your life.
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I have a post-it note stuck to my mirror, where I write every day at a makeshift standing desk. It says, “Be yourself, in kindness, in courage, and in love.” That post-it note reminds me to embrace who I am and live fearlessly.
Go be yourself, in kindness, in courage, and in love.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this look at living an inhibited life. Every Friday, I publish a short personal essay that includes a valuable takeaway. For more of my essays and memoir writings, visit Wing Chair Musings.
