Can you still skip? And why it matters.

The value of being care-free.

If you want a laugh or two, google “skip challenge.” The search will show adults trying to remember how to skip. Grown humans are lunging forward like some defective robot that’s misfiring. It’s hilarious, and they’re laughing, making their attempts harder. Some look so bizarre that I wonder if the person ever knew how to skip.

To be fair, skipping is pretty useless. What’s more, it’s hard to skip and not look ridiculous. Especially the older we are; what person skips if they’re not headed to see The Wizard of Oz?

If only momentarily a skipper has abandoned how they look or are perceived, or if what they’re doing is valuable or has a return on investment. It might be the only human motion we can associate with being completely carefree. A skipper is unencumbered with how they appear, and they’re not accomplishing anything; they are literally free of care.

Is it gone for good?

As I watched adult after adult unable to do something they could likely once do without thinking, something near sadness crept over me. It was as though they could no longer speak a language they once were fluent in. The sun had set on that knowledge; how to be carefree had gone dark. But was it gone for good?

We are consumed with a great many fears. We have a negativity bias that ceaselessly scans our life and the lives of those we love for threats. A host of real and imagined worries, fears, concerns, and to-do lists all flood the inbox of our mental email. Over time the muscles to be carefree start to atrophy and might eventually vanish.

Even the space to skip starts to disappear. We need open space to skip, with energetic hops and swinging arms free to move. But, unfortunately, our once spacious mental landscape that allows for skipping has likely become overgrown with vines and clutter from fears to the point that even on our best days, we warily inch along.

Carefree

I suppose I’m not talking about skipping but about the ability to be carefree. I’m not telling you to skip (maybe try for the humor of it), but I’m wondering if we’ve forgotten our calling to enter the kingdom of heaven. Part of this involves a carefree child-like trust that might allow us the mental freedom and space to skip.

The instructions to enter the kingdom of heaven are surprisingly brief. Jesus said:

“Truly, I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

This analogy can go in a few directions: faith, wonder, being open to not knowing, but the image of a child, free to skip, not struggling to remember how, is where my imagination takes me. But, of course, nearly any child can skip without even thinking.

If what I’m suggesting seems preposterous, maybe you need to hear the most. Today there are a great many forces that influence our access to a child-like demeanor.

On a recent Ten Percent Happier podcast episode, Dan Harris said it well:

There’s a lot of fear about being real, especially since we’re in this era of the panopticon of social media, and people are curating their lives and this persona, this false persona, we’re encouraged to have it, we’re encouraged to build a brand. Everybody’s got to have a brand.

Dan is talking about being consumed by appearances and productivity — and I’m afraid it hit home. It’s easy to see skipping isn’t on our agenda.

Flow state

I know skipping might never be your thing, and I don’t want anyone to break a hip, but I hear and read a lot about the benefit of a flow state. Being carefree allows for it. When we lose ourselves, and we’re in flow. Do you have an activity you do that you’re not self-conscious or self-editing? Dancing before the Lord, so to speak.

Play, skipping if you will, has researched benefits showing it helps slow dementia and generally aids our mental health.

My skipping/flow state

I love the Seek app. You hold your phone’s camera over a flower, plant, or bug, and it tells you what it is. I take loads of readings of what plants, bugs, or whatever are around me. A few days ago, I left my office and saw a tiny moth on my window screen. I zoomed in, and the app told me this little overlookable creature was a striped chocolate-tip moth. I was momentarily lost in experiencing this now-named, beautifully designed visitor. Seeing his drab blend of fuzzy khaki layers was a joy; I could have skipped away. I didn’t.

Just look at this gorgeous little wonder! The striped chocolate-tip moth. It’s a tent maker moth!

Let me know your flow-state-inducing skip-like activity in the comments!

Be well, Feral Souls.