THE MOMENT IS MOIST
Yeah, I said it. Moist. And I meant it.
Here’s the thing that lit the fuse:
I was at Niagara Falls—a literal wonder of the world, a place where the air itself is wet—watching parents tell their kids not to step in the puddles.
“Don’t get dirty.”
“Stay dry.”
“Watch your shoes.”
WTF? We’re at a waterfall. You’re already wet. You’re wearing a yellow poncho that looks like a glorified trash bag. What are we doing?
That’s when it hit me.
Not just the mist—though that was doing its job too—but the absurdity.
And more than that, the sadness.
We’re so conditioned to protect appearances, stay neat, stay safe—that we stop people, especially our kids, from actually living the moment they’re standing in.
The decision was automatic. I didn’t just step in the puddles. I made sure to.
It wasn’t to make a point. It was because the point was already made:
We are being trained to miss it. The it. Life.
So yeah, I stepped in the puddles.
For the kids.
For myself.
For every poor sucker Auntie Mame warned us about—starving to death at life’s banquet because they didn’t want wet socks.
YOU CAN’T CONNECT IF YOU’RE NOT PRESENT
This isn’t just about puddles. It’s about conversations.
You can’t have a meaningful conversation if you’re mentally three emails ahead. You can’t support a friend if you’re holding your response while they’re still talking. And you certainly can’t experience joy if you’re too busy trying to capture it for later.
We’ve been trained to observe our own lives like we’re watching from a distance.
That’s why the puddle mattered.
It wasn’t just wet ground. It was a reset button. A reminder. That moment said:
“Are you actually here, or are you just pretending to be?”
THE SHAME OF “TOO MUCH”
Why is fully experiencing something seen as childish or embarrassing?
Watch a kid stomp through a puddle and you’ll see pure, unfiltered joy.
Watch an adult panic over wet hems and mud stains, and you’ll see a lifetime of conditioning.
We’ve confused maturity with detachment. We’ve confused polish with emotional constipation.
Best believe I made sure to step in each puddle I could as we walked around.
If a puddle was the spot for the photo op? I stood in it.
Not to prove anything. Not everything has to be a battle cry.
But let’s be honest—it was a little rebellious.
I do my own laundry. I pay my own bills. I’m not under your roof anymore.
I don’t owe anyone dry socks.
Because here’s the thing: parents need to remember that it’s called a childhood, not a little adulthood. Even when the childhood we had was more “emergency contact” than “safe haven.”
We know better now.
So let’s do better—especially when it comes to giving the people we love the space to actually be in their own lives. Even if that means standing in a puddle. Especially if it means that.
I’m not trying to be an “armchair” Dr. Spock. But I’ve learned some shit. I’m neurodivergent, which means I often see things from the outside in—and sometimes that makes the inside clearer. There’s a reason we call it being neuro-spicy.
So yeah, I splashed for the kids. And for me. But mostly because it felt right. Because presence doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Sometimes it just means being okay with wet boots and your own damn timeline.
LIFE ISN’T A DISPLAY CASE
It’s not supposed to be neat. It’s supposed to be real.
We’re so desperate to keep things “on track” or “under control” that we’ve forgotten how to get lost.
Not lost in a panic—but lost in a moment.
Splashing in a puddle isn’t regression.
It’s rebellion.
We’ve let culture convince us that messy = wrong. That wet shoes = failure. That being moved = weak.
But real presence is messy. Real connection is soggy, awkward, and impossible to schedule.
WE WEREN’T TAUGHT HOW TO BE HERE
Some of us are just now learning how to jump in puddles.
And that’s okay.
Some of us didn’t grow up with the kind of freedom that allowed for splashing or mess. Some of us were too busy surviving. Being good. Staying clean. Earning gold stars and avoiding loud feelings.
We weren’t taught how to be present. We were taught how to perform.
So yeah, sometimes as adults we need to deprogram ourselves. We need to start small. Let the sock get wet. Leave the voicemail instead of rehearsing it in your head for a week. Cry in public. Stand in the puddle to get the “perfect” photo, even if someone is watching.
It’s not about being reckless. It’s about learning how to feel safe being seen in the moment.
And no, you’re not behind.
You’re not late to life.
You’re just arriving on your own terms.
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