Because we forgot to make time for them while leaning in and girl-bossing too close to the sun.

Growing up, I was involved with everything. Swim lessons at the YWCA. T-ball and soccer at the YMCA. Ballet. Brownies. Gymnastics. Jazz-nastics (apparently a thing). Figure skating. Piano lessons. Softball. Pre-hockey (skating lessons in hockey pads with 12-year-old boys who refused to pass the puck to the girl). Band. Karate. Horseback riding. More soccer. Photography. Choir. Theatre.

My parents joked that I had to try everything once just to get the outfit. Looking back I see an enviable thirst for life — for new experiences, exploring passions, and not being deterred when something didn’t work out.

I loved to read. To make friendship bracelets and hair wraps and other pseudo embroidery projects. To watch my mom in the kitchen and try out my own kids cookbook (still has the best brownie recipe). To “help” my dad build a fort in our backyard (he probably had to go back and check each nail). To go camping and explore caves and ride bikes and collect leaves. To ride rollercoasters and go to haunted houses and spend the day on the lake. To imagine new worlds and dream of life’s biggest possibilities.

We were in an era when it was the norm to roam outside until the porch light turned on. Cell phones and high-speed internet and streaming weren’t a thing. We were encouraged to go and do and play. And while I’m sure it wasn’t cheap, looking back it doesn’t seem as commodified either. Yeah, we all know the jokes about participation trophies. But for kids like us, participation was the entire point.

I know I’m speaking from a place of relative privilege. This was not a private school, Ivy-prep upbringing, but we had everything we needed and were able to do so much of what we wanted.

And this isn’t a stereotypical, luddite longing for a time before modern technology. It’s a stereotypical, millennial longing for a time before “adult” responsibilities. I put this in quotes because I really think it’s time for a re-defining of what this means.

It seems like each day I see something online about the need to slow down. To appreciate the moment and let some softness back into our lives. Maybe it’s the political climate and the fact that it feels like the world is on fire (literally and figuratively). Maybe it’s because we witnessed a presidential impeachment and the OJ Simpson trial and Columbine and 9/11 and invading Iraq & Afghanistan and Hurricane Katrina and the 2008 economic collapse & recession and the rise of the internet & social media all before our prefrontal cortexes were fully developed. And that led us into hustle culture and trying to break stereotypes about lazy millennials living in their parents’ basements.

And women finally started making their own money (it was in the 1960s that women could open a bank account, 1970s that women could open a credit card & the first female CEO led a Fortune 500 company, and 2000 that we saw the first woman billionaire). So we were told not to waste this opportunity. To lean in. To shatter glass ceilings. The girl boss was born.

Anyone who knows me knows that these are 100% progresses that I support. Full stop. But I also think the mentality around it is limiting in its own way. Think about the tiresome assumptions women face about what they have to sacrifice to get to the top, considerations rarely made about male counterparts. We have to shut out other parts of our lives and make work our personalities to fit these molds. And the pressure put on working women who are also raising families is tenfold. How dare we ask for more?

Plus, like I mentioned, the world is on fire. We’re supposed to stay educated and raise awareness and volunteer and donate. All things I truly value. But this, too, is a lot.

So we wear burnout like a badge. From participation trophies to “I’m so busy.” We disassociate in front of our screens because the idea of adding anything else just feels like too.much. (Again, I swear I’m not a luddite. I drafted this on my notes app and am publishing digitally).

I think this is where the “yes and” fallacy comes into play. It can easily be interpreted as this and this and this and this. Or it could be this and this lead to this. Not negating, not endless addition, but elements working together toward a shared end. We just have to find the right balance and proportion so we don’t lose the plot (easier said than done). We can make space for female CEOs and directors and creators and assistants and women who work inside and outside the home and around the world and in space. For those who want to lean in and those who want to lean out. For those who find fulfillment in the board room, in nature, in the classroom, with their kids or their pets or their friends — or, dare I say, themselves.

This brings me back to the idea of what we’re responsible for as adults. I believe our ultimate responsibility to ourselves and to each other is to live our fullest lives, whatever that may look like.

I recently listened to an interview with Bozoma Saint John on the podcast Work in Progress. She talked about how she lives like she is the most important person in the world to her, and by doing so she is setting the example for her daughter to do the same. That we are each our own most important person. That the opposite of selfless isn’t selfish, it’s self-full. And what ought we to be full of if not ourselves?

So this may be yet another stereotypically millennial take, but it’s time to revisit our childhood hobbies and activities. Not because we need one more thing on our plates, but because maybe one “adult” thing could swap out for something that’s just for ourselves. Something that can take us back to that mindset of having the entire world and future in front of us. To go and do and try and explore and fail and pick ourselves back up again, laugh, and try something new. To go back to when skinned knees were just part of the ride. To wake up each day and discover a new way we can be fully ourselves.

This doesn’t mean there’s no place for ambition; that we have to go scorched earth on “lean in” and can only “lean out.” It’s just broadening what ambition and aspiration can look like.

I aspire to be a good leader and colleague. To wake up each day and learn something new about the world. To be a good friend, sister, daughter, aunt, citizen. To tell stories that matter. To travel. To create. I’m not someone who rests easily; I will always strive to see some form of progress or forward momentum. But what that looks like might change from time to time, and that’s ok too.

I’ve gotten back into reading just for fun. Last year I set a goal of 24 books and beat it with 27. This year I raised that goal to 36, and I’m already at 41. I just launched a huge work project that wasn’t without its bumps (still ongoing) but was a significant accomplishment. I’m traveling again and will take that to new levels with two weeks in Europe(!) this December. I want to pick photography or piano back up, but haven’t gotten that far. But I’m letting myself think of ambition beyond titles and degrees and accolades and of growth beyond the org chart.

I gotta say, that feels really good.