“Children are viewed more as human becomings than as human beings.”
 — Jens Qvortrup, Childhood Matters

My daughter, Winden, and I were playing at a local park. A boy nearby watched us for a while, clearly itching to join in. Finally, with the confidence of a seven-year-old about to make a friend, he marched over and announced, “Hi! I’m seven, and when I grow up I’m going to be an astronaut!”

He stood there proudly, waiting for the admiration he knew was coming. After all, what could possibly be cooler than a future astronaut? Winden paused halfway up the slide she was climbing and looked at him curiously. “I’m six,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I’m already an artist.” Then she reversed course and whooshed down the slide. As she picked up speed, she called over her shoulder, “You know, you don’t have to wait!”

The boy looked stunned. I was quietly floored. In a few words, she had named something profound, something beautiful. Children are far more than works in progress. They don’t have to wait and strive to become something in the future. They already are.

The Trouble with “Becoming”

As educators and parents, we spend much of our energy preparing children for the future, equipping them with skills, cultivating resilience, instilling values, teaching them to care for a world they will one day inherit. This is good and necessary work. But it’s easy to slip into seeing kids primarily as lumps of clay to be shaped, as unfinished versions of adults’ investments whose worth will pay off someday, when they’re “ready.” Our love is real, but it’s often conditional on time. We see children’s value as deferred, always just around the next bend of maturity.

When we do this we rob ourselves of the joy of who they are right now. 

When we do this we rob our children of the beauty and value of the childhood they are experiencing right now.

And as a parent of young kids, as a teacher of middle school students please allow me to remind you: kids are magic. 

Yes I know.  They smell funny and are terrible at emotional regulation.  They always need something and generally have awful taste in music and an outsized love for mac and cheese… but the kids I work with every day engage with the world with their whole hearts. They connect with nature in ways that would take an adult years to relearn. They are different every day and I don’t want to miss a second.   

If we focus on being with our children right now,on sharing a moment of life together in the present tense, this can be truly powerful! Kids are much more than a project under construction. They are living, changing, being. A child, in that view, is not waiting to become “someone”—they are already a full participant in life, here and now. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “The present moment is filled with joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it.”

When we treat children as full human beings, we affirm that their thoughts, emotions, and ways of knowing matter not because of what they’ll become, but because of who they are.

The Environmental Lens

In environmental education, this trap of future-orientation shows up all the time. We talk about “raising the next generation of environmental leaders,” or “training the stewards of tomorrow.” These phrases are well-intentioned, but they subtly reinforce the idea that children’s connection to the natural world is primarily valuable because of what it might lead to later.

Then… we mix this way of thinking with a heavy dash of pessimism about the future as we predict impending doom- Climate disaster, mass extinctions, etc…

But… children are not future citizens of the planet—they are current ones. 

And yes, we have environmental problems that will take all of us to solve.  But we also have beautiful moments together right here and now.  Like when Winden picked up a leaf covered in frost on the way to the bus stop this morning. For just a moment she was enveloped by wonder- the sheer beauty of the crystals, the veins fading from red to brown, the crunch of frost and dried leaf mixing together into something impossibly beautiful and impossibly temporary. 

Perhaps that moment together will be a part of what shapes her into a person who is connected to nature.  Perhaps that will be one thread of what connects her to caring about climate change.  Who knows?  All I know for sure is that moment together was a treasure regardless of the outcome. 

The forest path, the tidal wetland, the classroom garden—these are not merely laboratories for later lessons in ecology or sustainability. They are living worlds children already belong to. Their relationships with these places matter just as deeply now as they will in adulthood.

A sixth grader who discovers a box turtle in the woods for the first time is not just developing environmental literacy. They are experiencing wonder. And wonder, as every environmentalist eventually rediscovers, is the first and most enduring form of care.

Identity, Connection, and Impact

At NorthBay, we talk about three things: Identity, Connection, and Impact. Identity comes first for a reason. When a young person feels seen and valued for who they already are not only who they might become, they begin to act from a place of authenticity and confidence. From that self-assurance grows a natural sense of belonging and empathy for others and for the natural world. And when belonging deepens, impact emerges not as a duty or expectation for the future, but as a joyful, immediate expression of self.

Environmental action rooted in identity is sustainable because it’s personal. It comes not from guilt or obligation, but from relationships.

Being With, Not Building Toward

If we take these concepts seriously, our role as adults changes. We stop asking only, “How can I prepare this child for what’s next?” and begin asking, “How can I meet this child fully where they are?” The work becomes less about building toward and more about being with.

That shift requires patience—and humility. It asks us to slow down enough to really listen. To let go, even for a moment, of the teacher’s instinct to explain or the parent’s urge to direct. To notice the mossy rock a child is absorbed by, or the caterpillar they can’t stop watching, and to share in their wonder instead of redirecting it into a lesson on facts and vocabulary. Presence, after all, is the most powerful teaching of all.

Next time you’re talking with a child and feel yourself wanting to ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”— or “Where are you thinking about going to college?” Or even “What are you going to get into next summer?” pump the brakes.

Try asking instead, “Who are you right now?”

Children have answers that are both simple and startling:
 “I’m an artist.”
 “I’m a helper.”
 “I’m someone who loves frogs.”

These aren’t idle fantasies. They are declarations of being. They tell us what matters most to them today—their values, curiosities, and sources of joy. And those, in turn, are the seeds of the future we all hope for.

Here is another fine question to try out on a student or a child in your life: “If someone really wanted to understand you, what’s one thing they should know?”

Maybe you’ll learn something about anime, or middle school, or science.  You’ll definitely learn more about the person you are trying to connect with.

If we can meet children in this present-tense wonder, we might rediscover something of our own identity too. The world they inhabit, the sensory, immediate, interdependent world is the same one we adults too often rush past in our business. To see through their eyes is to remember that we, too, are not only becomings but beings.

In connecting with children as they are and the Earth as it is we honor the present moment as sacred ground. And if we are, in fact, planting seeds for a better future, that’s the ground where I hope they might grow.