This article is best experienced with the song “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star looping in the background. Specifically the live version.
I didn’t just capture a video of my nephew playing in the mud with his elementary crush. I captured a moment in time we all long for as adults. The fearless disregard we once had before the world told us how to care about our image, reputation, and future.
When we had that elementary crush so intoxicating it crushed all sense of time and left us floating in that mystical yet innocent enchantment. You know, the kind that made you carve their initials in your leg with a rock. *face palm*
Watching through my phone felt like I was sitting in a cubicle staring through a window at something I’d lost. Not just childhood, but a way of living.
We don’t like to get muddy anymore
There was a time when mud on your pants was a badge of honor, not something off-brand. When acting like different Pokémon during recess was peak imagination, not something we worried the girls would see.
Even this past weekend I gave up the opportunity to paddle board on a lake during sunset—because I didn’t want to have to deal with wet clothes if I fell in. It wasn't just avoiding the inconvenience, I was rejecting the risk it took for a moment I would never forget
Where did the adventure go? My friends and I used to explore abandoned factories so massive we would get lost. We ignored the NO TRESPASSING signs but never forgot them. They came to mind anytime we heard rustling in the bushes. At any point we could get caught or worse—ambushed by some strung out homeless dude.
It was stupid and reckless, but honestly? Unforgettable.
Those dangerous adventures weren’t just good times. They represent a way of life the world beats out of you. Getting lost with a little risk used to be a thrill, but now it’s considered failing—hence the pressure of knowing what to do out of high school.
What was once following curiosity to chart unknown paths became staying on the trail.
Hustle culture killed the free spirit
As adults, spontaneity feels immoral—like a forbidden fruit. Remember when an idea would hit you and you’d just… do it? When saying yes to “…want to come with?” didn’t require checking your calendar or wallet.
We still get ideas, but somehow we’re still asking for permission. Instead of our parents, it’s our boss, our spouse, or our image. Why are we still raising our hand to explore these ideas?
As a result, our lives are losing as much color and shape as modern buildings have. Take McDonald's for instance. The roof was covered with colorful animals, but now it has become as brown and boxy as the paper bag they serve their grey patties in. They're one example of how society forces us down paths that are safe, profitable, and ultimately, uniform—no matter how much personality it costs.
Hustle culture made spontaneity feel like an act of treason against your future self. Every unplanned moment became a betrayal of your five-year plan. But what’s the point of building an “ideal life” if you reach the end to realize you never actually lived it?
At some point in our lives, we were convinced that wonder was the enemy of success. That following our curiosity was a luxury we couldn't afford. Keeping up with the Joneses made us feel our impulses were immature roadblocks between us and "making a living."
But what do you think is more important: making a living, or making a life worth living? Society will tell you to sacrifice the life you want to live for a life you 'need to live.'
If you don't fight back now, your soul will be so buried in conformity that not even watching The Matrix can pull you out—and you will lose the very thing that makes you… you.
I’ve sadly become the guy more concerned about the efficiency of his morning routine than building midnight memories. Prioritizing the mundane over novelty, sacrificing the present moment out of concern for the future.
My lovely wife, Krystal, reminds me what I’ve lost. Her inner child is so much more alive than mine. She shares a new sparkly idea every week. Most of them make me laugh—an indicator of my lack of faith. And she’ll stop vocalizing them if my first thought continues to be, “but how will you manage that?”
I failed to realize until writing this that I’ve become the cynic I so strongly preach against.
Cutting through the chain link fence
We can’t go back in time, nor should we want to. Our fond memories of messy adventures and fearless exploration aren't meant to be envied. They're reminders of what it feels like to live entirely in the present moment. Something we've forgotten how to do.
There's a chain link fence that stands between our inner child and the overgrown park of our pressuring lives. It’s time to cut through it and make space for presence over productivity, and meaning over money.
Even Jesus wants us to have this childlike spirit. He said we cannot enter the kingdom unless we have the heart of a child (Matthew 18:3). He knew that as we age, we lose that sense of pure wonder and risk—the very things that are required to give up everything and follow Him. That ability to act without overthinking every possibility.
It's about thinking about what you will gain rather than what you will lose.
The path back to wonder
So how do we take the risk to cut through that chain link fence?
It's not about rejecting responsibility, but about seeing that living a life to the full is our responsibility.
Having a childlike faith isn't irresponsible—it's the courage to act with wonder while trusting the outcome to God. Like holding your father's hand as you cross dangerous roads.
Start with small acts of rebellion against your own rigidness. When your friend asks "want to grab coffee?" try to push back the gym session. When you drive past that scenic seat, ask yourself: "why not slow down and absorb this moment?" When your spouse shares an irrational idea, your first question is, "how can I help?"
I'm right there with you. I wish I would have written this article before I was at the lake house. Maybe I would have considered cannonballing into the lake just for the sake of adventure. Just to know that I am permitted to live without the future getting in the way.
Your next adventure is waiting
Here's what you can do to get muddy:
* Choose one day to go on an adventure. Go somewhere you haven't been. Get lost in nature.
* Learn a new skill or hobby that requires practice, lessons, or courses.
* Say yes to the next invitation you get and see where it leads you.
* Sacrifice your routine this week if it means quality time with your loved ones.
* Breathe life back into that crazy dream you once had and don't let anyone crush it.
We can have the past time tenacity by embracing a childlike faith as an adult. It's not about being irresponsible. It's about discerning which moments deserve to interrupt our carefully planned lives. It's knowing that as you hold your heavenly Father's hand, you can stride through life with the confidence that EVEN IF you fall, He will pick you right back up.
To trust that when we make space for wonder, we don't lose control of our lives. We gain something we can't plan for… Moments that matter.
The child who once ran at full speed without fear of falling is still inside you , waiting to take that hand and play in the mud again.
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