Reviving the Search of Your Childhood Self
A belief we're preprogrammed to search for who we're meant to be
“What is love?” my just-turned-three year old inquired as I tucked her in for a nap.
“It’s how I feel about you and how you feel about me,” I offered, not good at impromptu sageness. “It’s a feeling of care in our body,” I tried again. That’s a tough question!
“But what is it made of?” she asked.
Oh bother, I give up.
I have a sense that we are preprogrammed from birth to search for who we’re meant to be.1
The search is simple in the early years. We’re learning the basics of our body, mind, and emotions while exploring how to interact with others and the physical world. Then, somewhere between-ish eight and fifteen, the more existential search takes place as we rummage through our existence, all the while gazing towards the future, wondering how our life might unfold.
At least, that’s how I recall it. My search took place both with other people and in solitude.
When it came to searching with others, I gravitated towards deep childhood friendships. Together, we tried to find the words to articulate our curiosities, often staying up all night discussing the meaning of life. We found ourselves contemplating beneath the stars on my rooftop or channeling our thoughts into writing and performing plays. We didn’t just search with words, though, sometimes we searched with our bodies. We choreographed dances to communicate what couldn’t be said, shared silent late-night walks under moonlight so bright it cast a shadow, or pedaled our bicycles all day, wandering from town to town, looking for something.
I also searched in solitude, often in nature. Fresh winter snow would draw me deep into the woods to listen to its deafening silence. In summer months, I’d locate pine trees designed for climbing, with perfectly placed branches, like a built-in spiral staircase. I’d walk barefoot in the warm rain, relishing in the familiar summer scent of wet tar. Or I’d nestle up against a tree on a sunlit patch of pine needles to journal or read. During windy fall days in New England, I’d lay on the forest floor, taking in the scent of decomposing leaves while watching the wind strip the ripened ones from the forest canopy as the treetops bowed and sang.
Then sometime around sixteen, life became more about friends, popularity, academics, extracurriculars, boys, and seeking validation while trying to establish self esteem. By this point, I had absorbed thousands of micro lessons from society prescribing who I should aim to be and subsequently how I should aim to live. An excellent student, I accepted all of those lessons without challenging the implicit expectations.
I forgot about the search. Instead, I immersed myself in the race.
Later in life, it became about relationships, career, kids, family, vacations… survival, even, as it felt sometimes.
In a recent conversation with a friend of mine, he shared how much he used to love contemplating life and reading. He noted that now, he no longer has time. It’s his career at Amazon and his kids. Reflecting on my own shift over the last year, I gently poked at his narrative.
“Are you drinking or smoking during the week though?” I asked.
“We never drink during the weekdays, but we do smoke every night. It’s a great way to relax, take our minds off work, and spend quality time with the kids,” he explained.
“But then after you put them to bed, you don’t have brain power or energy left to read. I’m only challenging because I could imagine myself saying something similar in the recent past.”
About a year ago now, I stopped drinking during the weekdays. After putting my youngest to bed, I started reading every night instead of watching TV. I read two fairly different books in parallel, so I can alternate if I don’t feel in the mood for one of them, which helps me keep the habit going. Now I usually write for a while and then read before bed. We also started dividing and conquering when it comes to the kids, realizing not everyone has to go everywhere together, which frees up time. I put all my social media, work, and news apps into folders so they take conscious effort to access. I rarely let work creep into personal time, instead asking for additional support or vocalizing my boundaries.
With all of these little steps, I gained some space, and I slowly recalled my childhood search. While I still wish I had more time, and I’m skeptical the search will ever again be as idyllic as I’m portraying the early years, I feel refreshed. There is magic in the search. I am encouraged to keep looking, even though I still don’t know the answer or if I’ll ever figure it out.
There are true times in life where there isn’t time for the search. Just try to be honest with yourself if you’re truly in one of those stages or if you’re just executing life on autopilot. Alive but not really awake. At least, not awake to the search.
My childhood self did not spend all of her free time drinking, watching TV, or scrolling. She didn’t center her life around any one thing, like school or work. She wasn’t compelled to normalize. My childhood self continuously reached for something, like a beacon of light on the horizon that never became any closer despite her strides. She read, she wrote, she danced, she cried, she played, she fought, she loved and she hated. She stood up for herself and others in brave and sometimes aggressive ways. She felt. She went for it despite the fear. She cared. She lived. She tried. She searched.
Do you remember a childhood search?
Could you make a little space to revive that search?
As I was working on this post, I happened to watch Moana (again, maybe 10th time) with my three year old. Perfect example of born to search for who she is meant to be. It’s not just me, it’s Disney. Or maybe Moana seeded my belief. I don’t know, but it’s a great movie if you haven’t seen it. You don’t need kids. It gets me every time.
I read recently, becoming a better grown up has a whole lot to do with being more like a child. 🤍 May be all revive the search and the magic that comes with unknown quests!
This is so essential - thank you for writing such an inspiring essay.
"My childhood self did not spend all of her free time drinking, watching TV, or scrolling. She didn’t center her life around any one thing, like school or work. She wasn’t compelled to normalize. My childhood self continuously reached for something, like a beacon of light on the horizon that never became any closer despite her strides. She read, she wrote, she danced, she cried, she played, she fought, she loved and she hated. She stood up for herself and others in brave and sometimes aggressive ways. She felt. She went for it despite the fear. She cared. She lived. She tried. She searched."