We all seem to have a lot to say these days. Technology has given each of us a megaphone. And we use it, often.

I used to feel excited about all the ways we can connect with each other and raise our voices: social media, texting, creating a podcast or channel, or even (throwback such as this!) blog. And so many more. And from a point of independent speech, I still appreciate much of this.

But, when are we taking time to listen? To each other? To our children? To ourselves? With everyone talking all at the same time, how and where and when do we choose to listen?

Yesterday, Reese’s (wise) teacher sent home the beginning activity for what will be a series program helping students with critical skillsets. The first one is focused on listening.

And that really hit home for us, even in and in spite of the spaces I’ve tried to create for our family this past year to unplug, slow down, and sit in some intentional silence. What examples of active listening am I setting?

Listening, after all, is the first skill needed to learn. And we have so many ways to listen beyond just the physical sense of what our ears do. People listen with their eyes, with their sense of touch, and more. But quality listening, regardless of ability, means paying attention. It means setting down our own megaphone for a moment.

I suspect the world could use a chance to catch its breath, reset. To take turns speaking so that we might hear each other a bit better. In that shared exchange, with an intentionality to learn, what might we be able to accomplish as a whole?

Kids ask the best questions. Big questions, weird questions, hard questions, funny questions, unanswerable questions.

It’s that last sort that seems to throw us off the most as adults. Sometimes it’s because the question is both hard and unanswerable (“When are we going to die?”). Other times, it’s unanswerable simply because we don’t personally have an answer. And that throws a lot of us for a loop.

Why is that? I suspect it’s often because as adults, we live with the societal expectation that we are supposed to have all the answers. As ridiculous as that is, it still flares up when kids catch us unawares.

When a kid asks you an unanswerable question, how do you respond? Is your reflex to own that you don’t know? Do you answer honestly with that response: “I don’t know.” Or do you fake it? Dodge the question? Lie? Shut down the conversation?

Kids’ questions, especially the hard ones and the unanswerable ones, are a great place to practice our own curiosity and to embrace imperfection. Telling a child “I don’t know” models for them that it’s okay to sit with the unknowns. That it’s okay to not have all the answers at hand. It also opens a door for shared exploration. Has the child asked something that you can research together? Can you discuss what experts are still learning or don’t yet know about the topic? Is it an unanswerable question that simply deserves to be celebrated for its eternal unknowns?

The next time you are getting peppered with “Whys,” pause to cherish the innate curiosity that is childhood. And see where those questions can take you—together.

Stories about kindness, compassion, and championing the underdog have always spoken to me. My earliest memories include an impassioned reading of Charlotte’s Web and cheering on Charlotte and Wilbur and their humble, beautiful friendship. (I’ll wax on about that in another post, on another day.)

I realize some people will be cynical about a company called “Kind World.” After all, the world is not always kind. Humans are inherently flawed creatures. We make mistakes and intentionally hurt each other.

But we are also good. And I do believe in the inherent kindness of humanity and the possibilities we hold, both as individuals and as a collective.

Our hope at Kind World Publishing is to put a bit more good out into the universe, to use stories to create connections, to help tip the scales toward our better selves—to celebrate the best of us. I hope you find something here that helps you do that as well.