If you want an interesting party sometime, combine cocktails and

Hear, O seekers of delight and wisdom, the playful yet profound words of Robert Fulghum: “If you want an interesting party sometime, combine cocktails and a fresh box of crayons for everyone.” Though spoken in jest, these words shine with a truth that reaches beyond entertainment. They tell us that true joy is found not in extravagance, but in the rediscovery of innocence; that laughter and connection arise when adults remember the wonder of childhood and blend it with the fellowship of maturity.

The meaning of this saying is layered. On the surface, it suggests a whimsical gathering—friends sipping cocktails while filling paper with colors from crayons. But beneath it lies a deeper insight: that the heart of a human being never truly outgrows its longing for play. Even in age, when responsibilities weigh heavily, the soul still delights in the freedom of color, in the simplicity of creating without judgment. A good party is not about luxury, but about evoking that youthful spark in every guest.

The origin of such wisdom springs from Fulghum’s lifelong reflections on simplicity, kindness, and childlike wonder. He is known for urging adults to remember the lessons of the sandbox: sharing, imagination, laughter. In his words we see the same impulse—to break through the stiffness of adulthood and return, even for an evening, to the free and fearless creativity of the child. To hand out crayons is to remind grown men and women that they too can still dream in colors.

History itself bears witness to this truth. In ancient Athens, great festivals were not solemn affairs alone, but included games, songs, and contests that stirred laughter as well as reverence. Even warriors returning from battle found renewal in playful competitions and artistic expression. For they knew that to balance joy and struggle, seriousness and mirth, was the key to a life fully lived. Fulghum’s vision of cocktails and crayons belongs to this same tradition: joy as sacred, play as healing.

Think also of the Renaissance courts, where artists would sometimes stage playful entertainments blending music, food, and art. Nobles, weary of politics, found themselves refreshed by drawing, singing, or even acting in small comedies. Such moments did not diminish their dignity; they renewed their humanity. Likewise, a box of crayons at a party does not reduce, but elevates—it grants permission to be human in the fullest, free from masks of formality.

The lesson is this: do not let adulthood strip away wonder. We are not only workers, planners, and achievers—we are dreamers still, and the simplest tools can restore our joy. To bring forth crayons at a gathering is to remind ourselves and others that laughter, imagination, and shared silliness may do more to bond hearts than the grandest feast. True connection is born in these unexpected, playful moments.

Therefore, let us act. At our gatherings, let us not focus only on food and drink, but on creating spaces of joy and imagination. Let us surprise our friends with simplicity, break the stiffness of formality, and encourage creativity even in small ways. For as Robert Fulghum teaches, the recipe for an interesting party is not wealth or extravagance, but the joining of fellowship and childlike wonder—the blending of cocktails and crayons, of maturity and innocence, into a single night of timeless joy.