Anyone Else Wanna Come Out and Play?

It wasn’t a parenting trick.
It wasn’t a strategy.
It wasn’t something learned in a book.

It was natural intelligence.

It was life recognising what life needs.

Move your body.
Be with others.
Touch the world.
Make things up.
Fall out.
Make up.
Breathe again.

No apps.
No experts.
No programs.

Just being human together.

Long before anyone talked about “nervous systems” or “emotional skills,” people understood this in their bones. Children needed space. Sunlight. Peers. Scraped knees. Laughter. Arguments. Repair. Belonging.

They needed to live.

And so they were sent out to do exactly that.

When Feeling Okay Lived in Daily Life

For most of human history, feeling settled wasn’t something you worked on.

It was woven into ordinary days.

You walked.
You worked with your hands.
You sat close.
You shared meals.
You argued and reconciled.
You rested near other bodies.

You learned calm by being around calm.
You learned steadiness by watching steadiness.
You learned trust by being trusted.

No worksheets.
No tracking.
No optimization.

Just repetition and relationship.

From Living Systems to Digital Soothers

Somewhere along the way, we replaced living systems with digital ones.

We replaced:
play with platforms
presence with pixels
boredom with feeds
neighbourhoods with networks

Now, when a child is restless, lonely, wound up, or overwhelmed, the solution is often a screen.

Not because parents don’t care.

Because the culture no longer holds people the way it used to.

Fewer shared spaces.
Less time.
More pressure.
More isolation.

So devices step in.

They don’t settle us.

They distract us.

They numb the edges.

They keep us busy when what we really need is contact.

The Ordinary Power of Safe Touch

One of the biggest losses has been simple, safe, everyday touch.

Not sexual.
Not performative.
Not transactional.

Just human.

A hand on a shoulder.
A hug without expectation.
Sitting close without needing to explain why.
Leaning into someone during a laugh.

This used to be normal.

Now it’s awkward.
Sometimes avoided.
Sometimes outsourced.

Yet our bodies still know what it means.

We soften when we’re held kindly.
We breathe easier when someone is near.
We feel stronger when we’re not alone in it.

No theory required.

Chosen Family Is How We Stay Human

We were never meant to carry life on our own.

Not as children.
Not as adults.

Humans settle through each other.

We borrow steadiness.
We lend courage.
We remind each other who we are when we forget.

That’s why family matters.

Not just genetic.

Chosen.
Built slowly.
Kept through effort and forgiveness.

Friends who know your rhythms.
People who notice when you’re quiet.
Someone who will sit with you without trying to fix you.

This isn’t sentimental.

It’s how we survive well.

When “Too Much” Is Really “Too Alone”

So many people today think something is wrong with them.

Too sensitive.
Too anxious.
Too tired.
Too overwhelmed.

Most aren’t broken.

They’re unsupported.

They’re living in systems that expect one body to hold what used to be shared.

Constant noise.
Little touch.
High demands.
Few safe places to land.

That wears anyone down.

We Didn’t Outgrow This

We didn’t evolve past our need for closeness.

We just learned to ignore it.

What used to live in kitchens and backyards now lives in apps and subscriptions.

Breathing guides.
Connection courses.
Confidence programs.

Some of these help.

None replace living.

Remembering How Life Holds Us

“Go outside and play” wasn’t nostalgia.

It was wisdom without branding.

It was life saying: come back.

Come move.
Come laugh.
Come belong.
Come breathe near others.
Come remember yourself.

We don’t need to go backwards.

We need to come back into contact.

With bodies.
With people.
With time.
With dirt and water and laughter and quiet.

We Were Meant to Do This Together

Our wellbeing depends on it.

Our creativity.
Our kindness.
Our capacity to stay open in a hard world.

We learned this before we had language for it.

On footpaths.
Under trees.
On couches.
In backyards.