I was standing on the ice. No lines. No boards. No whistles. No one telling me what to do. Just space. Cold, open, quiet space. I lifted my arms without thinking. Not because someone asked me to. Not because it was part of a drill. Just because it felt right in that moment. And the shadow followed. Bigger than me. Almost like it had its own movement, its own story.
That’s when it hit me.
We talk a lot about physical literacy. We build programs, create plans, design pathways. We organize sessions, define outcomes, and measure progress. All of that has value. It helps create structure and access. But sometimes, we forget something simple.
Movement doesn’t need permission.
Kids don’t wait for a lesson plan to move. They don’t need a definition of physical literacy to understand it. They just do it. They slide on ice. They climb snowbanks. They run, fall, laugh, get up again. They figure it out as they go. And often, the best moments happen when no one is directing them. No instructions. No corrections. No expectations. Just movement.
Somewhere along the way, we start adding layers. Rules. Structure. Outcomes. And slowly, without meaning to, we begin to shape movement into something that needs approval. Raise your hand. Wait your turn. Do it this way. Try again, but better. We think we are helping.
And sometimes we are. But sometimes, we interrupt something that was already working. That natural curiosity. That willingness to try. That freedom to move without thinking about how it looks.
On that ice, there was no right or wrong way to stand. No perfect posture. No evaluation. Just a moment of being in the environment and responding to it. That’s physical literacy too. Not the polished version. Not the one we write into frameworks. But the real one. The one that is messy. Unstructured. Unplanned.Human.
In the North, we see this all the time. Movement shaped by environment. By weather. By community. Kids learning to adapt, to explore, to move in ways that make sense to them. We don’t always need to create those moments. Sometimes, we just need to protect them. To step back a little. To give space. To trust that movement will happen if the environment allows it. Because when people feel safe, supported, and free, they move.
Not because they were told to. But because they want to. And maybe that’s the part we need to hold onto. Not just how we teach movement. But how we allow it.