Is there a kid inside everyone? I think about this a lot, honestly. At times, when I’m caught laughing at a childish meme or I’m mesmerized by a sunset I can’t take my eyes off of, I feel it—this innocence, this little spark of life that refuses to grow up. Maybe you’ve felt it too. That uncontainable urge to giggle in a serious meeting, the way your whole body lights up at the sound of an ice cream truck, or those moments you catch yourself daydreaming like you did back in school. That’s the kid. I think they never really leave.
You know, Jesus once said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). When I first read that, it hit me. Becoming childlike doesn’t mean acting immature; it means embracing the wonder, trust, and pure joy kids seem to live in. Children have this way of looking at the world that feels… sacred. They don’t overanalyze the beauty of a flower or dissect the why behind a rainbow. They just laugh, marvel, and accept magic for what it is. I wonder, is that what we keep forgetting as adults? To simply be present?
Philosophers and thinkers have talked about this, too. Nietzsche once said, “Man’s maturity: to have regained the seriousness that he had as a child at play.” I always found that fascinating. Kids take their play very seriously—ever watch a child build a sandcastle like it’s the most important fortress in the world? It’s not just about the castle; it’s the act of building, of engaging your creativity with zero fear of judgment. Somewhere along the way, I think we start worrying too much about what others think and lose that trust in ourselves. But Nietzsche? He seems to think that our journey through adulthood is about finding that same seriousness again, without losing the ability to dream.
And speaking of dreams, how about Freud? Yeah, he was a little obsessed with our inner child, though he called it something else—our “id.” That raw, instinctive part of us that doesn’t care about logic or social norms and just wants what it wants. Some might find that embarrassing, but honestly, I think it’s refreshing to remember that we’re not just these overthinking adults all the time. Inside, there’s still something pure, something irrational, something wild—like the part of me that gets teary-eyed when I hear my favorite childhood bedtime story or smell the cookies my grandmother used to make.
Even the great poets understood this. Wordsworth wrote, “The child is father of the man,” as though there’s a deep truth in how we carry that child with us all our lives. Sometimes I think about my younger self—maybe you do too. What would they say if they saw me now? Would they like who I’ve become? Would they recognize me? I like to think they would. And if they wouldn’t… maybe that’s just a call to reconnect with them. That inner kid—the one who wasn’t afraid to get dirty, try new things, and love the world fiercely.
You’ve probably noticed how much kids feel—how every joy seems endless and every heartbreak monumental. Isn’t it amazing how they cry over a broken toy yet can go back to laughing five minutes later? Imagine if, as adults, we let ourselves feel without shame, without bottling it all up under layers of “maturity.” Rumi said, “Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” I think that’s what the inner child wants us to do. Stop living on autopilot. Stop hiding. Start feeling fully.
Even history is full of examples that remind me of this. Think of Albert Einstein. This guy cracked the mysteries of the universe, but you know what he said? “Play is the highest form of research.” Can you imagine? One of the greatest minds of all time, saying that play—not work, not books, but play—is the ultimate way to learn. I think that’s the kid inside him speaking, the one who never stopped asking why the sky was blue and how light traveled. It makes me wonder—how much more alive would we all feel if we let ourselves play more?
In a spiritual sense, I feel like this ties back to the idea of the soul. Many traditions talk about the soul as being ageless, untouched by the grind of life. There’s a Jewish tradition that says when a baby is born, they already know everything about the universe; they just forget when they enter the world. It’s as if the child holds some piece of heavenly wisdom we spend our entire lives trying to find again. Isn’t that a beautiful thought? That the truest part of ourselves is something we had before the worries, responsibilities, and cynicism crept in?
I think that’s why so many psychologists and self-help gurus talk about “inner child healing.” It’s not just some trendy phrase. It’s a recognition that within us is someone who was once vulnerable, curious, and full of hope. And maybe adulthood is less about becoming something new and more about returning to that original light. Carl Jung even wrote about this idea, calling the inner child part of the “divine child archetype” within. He believed that reconnecting with this version of ourselves is the key to finding wholeness.
And that reminds me of one of my favorite moments in literature—Peter Pan. Peter refused to grow up, not because he was irresponsible, but because he feared losing what made life magical. The book says, “When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.” How beautiful is that? It’s like saying that every ounce of magic in the world begins with the simple, unfiltered joy of a child. Maybe that’s why we’re drawn to stories like Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland—they make us yearn for that part of ourselves we bury under bank accounts and deadlines.
So, is there a kid inside everyone? I don’t just believe it; I know it. Every time we laugh too loud, every time we feel that inexplicable awe in the face of life’s smallest joys, we’re touching that part of ourselves that hasn’t aged a day. Maybe the real challenge isn’t just keeping that kid alive, but listening to them. Letting them remind us that life isn’t just about clocks and calendars—it’s also about sandcastles, laughter, and rainbows that don’t need a purpose to be beautiful.
You are a divine creator, for His kingdom is within you. Read more >>