THE "RULES"...

The Rules

I remember feeling very excited - and very anxious - about starting school. Unfortunately, on my first day of kindergarten, anxiety won out over excitement. This quote, often attributed to both Robert Heller and Fritz Perls, says, "Fear is excitement without the breath." I definitely forgot to breathe that first day of kindergarten.

It was literally my first day of graduate school when I learned that anxiety and excitement are experienced very similarly in the body. Our task isn't necessarily to eliminate anxiety; it's to transform it. We breathe to calm the body and nervous system. We practice gratitude to reconnect with what is already good in our lives. And we learn to tell ourselves a story that opens us to possibility rather than fear.

As I thought back to that first day of kindergarten, I remembered something else.

The "rules" my parents taught me before I walked into that classroom were surprisingly simple:

Please.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

Do you want to play with me?

I've come to believe those simple phrases contain more wisdom than I realized at five years old.

"Please" reminds us that respect opens more doors than entitlement.

"Thank you" trains our attention toward gratitude rather than scarcity.

"I'm sorry" reminds us that healthy relationships are not built on perfection but on humility, accountability, and repair.

As I've grown older, I've come to see these words in an even deeper way.

"Thank you" honors what has been.

"I'm sorry" heals what has been damaged.

"Please" has always struck me as the most vulnerable of the three because it reaches toward a future that doesn't yet exist.

Healthy relationships aren't built by expecting others to read our minds. They grow when we're willing to cross the distance between us with honesty and humility, expressing our needs rather than silently hoping they'll somehow be discovered.

There is always risk in saying, "Please."

The other person may say no.

They may misunderstand us.

They may not be able to give us what we're asking for.

Yet real intimacy isn't built by avoiding that vulnerability. It's built by showing up, paying attention, speaking our truth with kindness, and remaining open to whatever unfolds next. From that place, relationships become less about winning or losing and more about discovering solutions that honor both people.

And perhaps my favorite:

"Do you want to play with me?"

As children, it was an invitation to friendship.

As adults, it becomes an invitation to connection, collaboration, curiosity, and vulnerability. It's the willingness to risk rejection in order to create something meaningful together.

The older I get, the more I appreciate that human flourishing isn't built on complicated formulas.

It's built one interaction at a time.

One respectful request.

One expression of gratitude.

One sincere apology.

One courageous invitation to connect.

The rules that helped calm an anxious little boy on his first day of kindergarten still seem to work remarkably well today.

Perhaps wisdom isn't always about learning something new.

Sometimes it's about remembering what mattered all along.

What "rules" from your childhood have stayed with you - and which ones have you outgrown? Sometimes the smallest lessons become the foundation of the most meaningful lives.