Playing's the Thing

Jackie is a two-time state golf champion. She is strong and beautiful and resilient. But when she rides a bike, she looks like a bowlful of Jello having a grand mal seizure. Not a pretty site. And yet, watching her whiz up and down my street the other night, I was lost in the joy that had filled her.

When she hopped off the Purple Hawaii, she stretched herself across my front lawn, resting her head on the stomach of her friend Liz, whose body was spattered across the cool grass. On the driveway, Ansur and Michael were completing their chalk masterpieces, and then skittering across the street to wash off in our neighbor’s sprinkler, while Sara was trying to beat her record of 20 consecutive bounces on the pogo stick. The rest of us? We were lounging about in the grass, giggling and throwing Silver Maple helicopters at each other.

It was a simple, unremarkable moment that left me feeling utterly grounded and happy.

That’s the magic of play, isn’t it? The chance to set aside whatever it is we are supposed to be and do and want and just lose ourselves in the moment. Most people aren’t very good at losing themselves in the moment anymore. But when we do—when we shut off our cell phones and quit watching TV with one eye and make our peace with just being—we are transformed into someone better.

Don’t believe me? Then maybe I should have filmed my journalism students as they played at my house the other night. They were silly and playful and blissful. When’s the last time you’ve seen a teenager in a blissful state? Or an adult, for that matter?

Yeah, for all our spunk and swagger, Americans make lousy playmates. We think that down time is frown time and that something’s wrong with an open date on the calendar.

Instead of reaching for the Rolodex, we should reach across to our friends from the anti-drug campaigns and swipe “Just Say No” for ourselves. And then we should utter that simple word over and over again until it results in one long, uninterrupted afternoon of laying in the grass, outlining imaginary animals in the clouds above us.

Sure, there are times when we need to be multitask masters, when we must be efficient and focused and productive. But if we don’t practice the art of play, all that hard work is for naught. What’s the point of bringing home all that bacon if we aren’t going to fry it up in our pans?