If you have spent any time on social media, you may have noticed the intentional fingerprints of a very special community this month.

It’s most often a picture of a kid. Yeah, I know. Lots of those on Facebook and Instagram. But these are often accompanied by a factoid about Down syndrome.

If you have a lot of connections with these families, you may have become a little inoculated to their effect as the number of posts from different friends scroll across your newsfeed. But this is Down Syndrome Awareness Month, where families of these amazing people (and, most articulately, those with Ds themselves) amp up their social media traffic to cut through the din and answer questions that folks may be too scared to ask.

I started the month with the best of intentions; planning to lay out four blog posts, publishing once a week. But I have come to realize that matters of great importance can freeze me in my tracks as I look for just the right word – just the right phrasing to turn an opinion or drive a different perspective. But I couldn’t let the paralysis of my vanity get in the way of this really important work.

So I sit here in the quiet of a noisy coffee shop, asking myself a question:

What’s the one thing I want the world to know about Ds and the perspective I could have received in no other way?

In other words, what has Julia and that extra chromosome taught me about what is best in life?

So here goes… in all of its chaotic glory…

As I was thinking about it, two little vignettes from the past couple of months came to mind. One was wistful and even a little scary. The other was, I suspect, an answer from heaven to my own insecurity. Together, they are a lesson on the most important thing on this earth.

Swinging while the teens gathered…

If you’ve not picked up on it recently, we are doing a major renovation of our house, requiring us to move out for a while to give our builder the space required.

As we settled into the new surroundings and neighborhood of a nearby apartment, I took Julia for a walk to a playground. I needed a few extra steps on my FitBit that day, so instead of the one right across the street, we hiked a half mile or so and took in one closer to the downtown.

It’s a strange place where the play structures look like a design collaboration between Salvador Dali and Dr. Seuss (I literally didn’t know how to interact with a couple of them), but she finally settled into a swing and all was well.

There were a couple of teenagers chatting on a bench nearby; and over time, a few others slowly joined them. There was an obvious connection school connection at play here as they picked up conversations and plans started hours or days before.

It was interesting, though, watching Julia’s interest grow as the group did. Where she had been talking to me and asking me to give her a push, her attention and even body orientation slowly shifted from me to this group of potentially new connections. She even shifted to the swing closest to them. After a while, I could see all the non-verbal cues from Julia to the group saying…

“Over here. I’m over here.”

She even ventured a welcoming “Hi” as we had taught her to do when making new friends.

And she got nothing back.

The teens were locked in their conversations, their plans.

I think it hurt my heart more than hers. I noticed a rain cloud approaching and redirected her to Starbucks for a treat. She would have stayed and kept trying – despite the impending downpour.

Let me be clear. I don’t fault the teenagers at all. Each has their own task of connecting just as I did at their age and still do. And like I said, the scenario more reveals my insecurity than anything else. Where I had given up, she unflappably kept at it. It was that important to her.

Julia’s school welcoming committee…

Because of our temporary remote living situation (and, even bigger, we’re just not ready to put her on the bus), I drop Julia off at school on my way to work. It’s an opportunity to jam away to her favorite music (Sara Bareilles’ new album at the moment), orbit by the house to see the progress on the construction and get one more smooch before we take off on our busy days.

I’ve seen some Instagram stories that portray curbside drop off as more of a war than a chore; but we usually have the margin to get there early and finish the last song. It’s a sweet moment as she unbuckles and comes up for a quick smooch and maybe a selfie.

But then most days, her friend Corinne walks up to the car. And then another friend, Adriana. And Julia’s “turning of orientation” happens and any thought of Dad simply disappears in that moment (as it should!).

Her friends wait, smiling, as Julia greets them with the same exuberant, unfiltered enthusiasm – every morning. There is a shriek of excitement as she gets out, reaches back into the car for her backpack and lunch. And even now as I remember her expression of elation and confidence, my heart is fit to break with gratitude.

Connection. Made.

She’s with her tribe.

And I drive away with my heart full.

Even cooler? I get to watch it all unfold again tomorrow.

In Julia’s world, connection is the real coin of the realm…

Julia loves that school. She loves to learn – especially when it’s revisiting the stuff she has confidence with.

But in the end, Julia cares less about what is going on and way, way more about who is going on. For all of her apparent deficits and delays, she knows something that we most often forget:

Achievement is fleeting – human connection remains.

And all it takes is a walk through our hometown to remind me. She points out every landmark and every restaurant we’ve eaten at not by its name, but by the people we were with when we were there. It may have been years, but she remembers them all.

Jocelyn and I often pair an unpleasant task that we have to do with her (think braiding hair or flossing teeth) with a video to help her get through it. The top pick for several months running is an end-of-school-year video that her class put together for their teacher. She’s watched it so many times and called out the names of each kid with such conviction that she can now duplicate many of the dances they did without the help of the video.

Even the calling of our names from the next room when she’s watching a show (we call them “soundings”) have no purpose other than to maintain a connection… and maybe drive us just slightly up a wall. All of these examples and many more have led me to one conclusion:

Julia’s entire world is grounded in and fueled by life-giving relationships.

For all of the strides she has made in her development that we will continue to celebrate, the most important thing that Julia teaches me is that human connection is worth persistence, with whatever tools are available – even in the face of negative feedback or no feedback at all. But just as important, it’s worth energetically celebrating when the connection is made – right then, right there, and with all love you can express.

Folks with Down syndrome remind us that human connection is the thing most worth pursuing and celebrating. #DownSyndromeAwarenessMonth Share on X

Many watchers of the culture have observed that loneliness is at epidemic levels. A recent UCLA study found that just over 3 in 4 respondents reported moderate or high levels of loneliness – defined as a discrepancy between their desire for relationship and its reality in their lives. They simply feel the gap between what they want and what they have.

And here is the scary paradox: Julia and people like her are among those who are more likely to be excluded in a fast paced, success driven world. But they often have the deepest well of friendship to give.

When we set aside our agendas, slow down and expose ourselves to the raw beauty of a soul unmoved by our achievements and who celebrates us simply because we are, much of our longing for the next “win” is put in infinite perspective.

Suffice it to say, I still have a lot to learn from my girl.