Let Little Kids Teach us About Making Friends

Who says playtime is just for kids?

We should sit back down to watch how little kids make friends. And learn.

It’s a good warm day in New York. I’m early for a lunch meeting, so I find a seat to soak up the sun at Madison Square Park (and make time).

Just so happens it’s lunch break and the park is surrounded by little scooters and little bikes. Their riders run around unhinged, as their moms (try to) catch up with each other, their stroller baskets packed with flowers and paper bags—it’s farmer’s market day at Union Square.

Three kids walk into the emptied fountain holding bubble wands and chalks.

Soon, they’re four. I missed the introduction moment (because I looked away for ten seconds). Now, the newcomer is here acting like she belongs.

The new/old friends are running around, bursting bubbles, bursting in laughter. It's contagious. I laugh and sheepishly look at their moms who're also laughing.

As the mom of a two-year-old, I’ve become quite familiar with the way kids make new friends. They kinda just show up and start playing.

Sometimes they introduce themselves with a forcefully polite “Can I play?”—certainly trained by their parents. But the words can barely be spoken before they are already sat down, playing.

I must confess, my initial reaction to some of these situations was: OK, that's a little bit invasive. Lol. Poor little adult here. What started as children’s play became my own self-reflection on how I want to incorporate a more childlike approach towards making new friends.

Of course, it's harder to make friends as adults. Between our busy minds and schedules, some days we can barely manage to stay hydrated, let alone engage in conversations with strangers who could become friends. But to what extent are we the problem? No doubt I am predominantly an introvert, and have a hard time letting new people into my circles. I've become a strict curator of my own relationships.

But there was a time—not that far away—when I acted a bit more like my kid.

It helps to have contexts that feel like playtime for adults. Like parties, book clubs, or music festivals (the epitome of a space where adults get to literally wear funny outfits, get their sillies out, and dance like nobody is looking for the duration prescribed by the organizer).

That’s actually how I met my husband—at a music festival in NYC. Then, my brain worked more like: "See that group dancing? They look fun and happy, just dance nearby." Next, that handsome man in the group was striking a conversation. Now we're married with two kids and live in the suburbs.

While I definitely got the happiest possible ending, watching my kids' interactions with other kids brings my attention to the need for incorporating more "playtime in the community" at a time when music festivals don't hit the same.

As an adult, I am aware of the instances where I've recently made friends and—while it's speed pales in comparison to my kids'—I understand we (adults) need more play spaces. More situations where it feels expected, normal, and allowed, to just reach out and start playing.

It could take shape in block parties, street festivals, or bowling alleys. But we need more than just a happy hour—and alcohol-infused, HR-forced fun.

That's why I love meetups like Reading Rhythms (Not a book club. A reading party.™), all art & journaling events by Emily Chertow, and newsletters like Sugary, promotes highly relevant and recurring events that feel like playtime for adults.

And now I'm obsessing with the idea of, maybe (why not), a play space for adults. What would that look like? Probably less like cushioned climbing ramps, slides, and ball pits (like we’re a cool startup office in 2014). Right? Or not. Maybe we need to try again with an adult-sized ball pit to strike random conversations with strangers.

The bottomline is: we need to get out to play. More often.

As for my kid's journey: I am learning to stay close, but as much as possible let my child’s comfort dictate who he wants to become friends with. To be honest, he's way more chill than me. Mostly, he wants to play. The more the merrier. And I know, that as he makes new friends, I'll probably ride that wave and make friends too.

Let's have more fun together.