Rediscovering Play

Monday, I wrote about giving ourselves permission to wander. Today, I'd like to wander a little further.

Camping brings back a flood of happy childhood memories for me. There is something about pulling into a campsite, leveling the trailer, rolling out the awning, and settling into our little home on wheels that feels wonderfully familiar. It's a little bit of work, yes, but it's also a lot like building a fort in the woods or escaping to a treehouse with your best friend. Every inch of space has a purpose. Every drawer becomes a puzzle. Every belonging has to find just the right home.

It's strangely satisfying.

Then, once everything is unpacked and the chores are finished, the real adventure begins.

The hiking trails call. The swimming hole glistens. Tiny downtowns invite exploration with their bookstores, coffee shops, antique stores, and local diners. Every day holds the possibility of discovering something unexpected.

It all feels suspiciously like...playing.

I'm not exactly sure when it happens, but somewhere along the journey into adulthood, many of us quietly stop playing.

One of the exercises we teach in emotional intelligence courses is identifying your three Best Self Words—the qualities that represent you at your very best. Years ago, one of my colleagues chose playful as one of hers.

And she absolutely embodied it.

She was quick to laugh, delighted by the ridiculous, endlessly curious, and never afraid to be just a little silly. Unsurprisingly, people gravitated toward her. Joy has a magnetic quality. It gives everyone around it permission to relax.

Watching her changed something in me.

I realized play wasn't something that simply happened to certain lucky people. It was something we could intentionally invite into our lives.

Ironically, that sometimes takes work. Or perhaps not work, but awareness.

Choosing to dance to the music playing in the grocery store.

Making terrible puns.

Laughing until your stomach hurts.

Looking up at the stars instead of down at your phone.

Doing something simply because it delights you.

One of the unexpected gifts of getting older is that we slowly begin caring less about what everyone else thinks. While I can honestly say I don't give a rat's patootie about most opinions anymore, I'm still a work in progress. Every once in a while, I still hesitate before dancing in public or being delightfully ridiculous.

But I'm getting there.

Because somewhere along the way, I stopped playing, just like so many adults.

Responsibilities grew heavier. Careers that once felt exciting slowly became obligations. Calendars filled. Deadlines multiplied. The very work we dreamed about sometimes became the thing quietly draining the life right out of us.

For those who have never experienced that...

I bow in awe.

The Healing Power of Play

Perhaps that is why play isn't merely entertainment.

It is medicine.

Researchers have found that playful experiences reduce stress hormones, improve mood, strengthen relationships, spark creativity, and even help our brains remain flexible as we age. Play encourages neuroplasticity—the brain's remarkable ability to keep learning, adapting, and growing throughout our lives. It reminds our nervous systems that not every moment requires vigilance or productivity.

Sometimes our greatest act of self-care is simply remembering how to have fun.

Curiosity is often where play begins.

The beautiful thing about curiosity is that it leaves very little room for judgment. We stop trying to be right and simply become interested. We ask questions. We explore. We notice. Curiosity transforms ordinary moments into little adventures.

Then there's laughter.

Mark and I recently watched RV starring Robin Williams, and we laughed our asses off.

It felt wonderful.

By the time the movie ended, we'd made a promise to ourselves to laugh a whole lot more. We forget sometimes that laughter isn't just an emotional release. It lowers stress hormones, boosts immune function, increases endorphins, and reminds us that life doesn't always have to be so serious.

Trying something new creates a similar kind of magic.

Whether it's exploring an unfamiliar trail, tasting a new meal, or wandering through a town we've never visited before, novelty awakens our sense of awe. And awe has an incredible way of shrinking our worries while expanding our perspective.

Even taking photographs becomes a form of play.

Every picture captures not just an image but a feeling. Months or years later, one photograph can transport us right back to that exact moment—the cool morning air, the scent of pine trees, the sound of a nearby river. We don't simply remember the trip; we relive it.

Some of the simplest games remain the best.

Skipping rocks across a lake.

Seeing who can make the biggest splash.

Watching one stone dance seven or eight times before finally surrendering to the water.

It never gets old.

Neither do cards.

Mark and I play a lot of them while camping. There is something wonderfully uncomplicated about sitting beneath the awning with a deck of cards, a cool drink, and nowhere else to be. No agenda. No productivity. Just friendly competition, conversation, and shared laughter.

Flying a kite might be one of the purest expressions of joy I know.

Standing beneath an open sky, feeling the wind tug at the string, watching bright colors dance against the clouds—it reminds us that sometimes the elements themselves become our playmates.

And then there are bookstores.

Walking into a locally owned bookstore is like stepping into a treasure hunt where every shelf holds the possibility of changing your life.

It also requires an astonishing amount of self-control.

The same is true of libraries.

One of our favorite traditions while traveling is visiting public libraries in the towns we pass through. Each one reflects its community in beautiful, unexpected ways. Some are historic. Some are modern. Some overlook rivers or town squares. All of them remind us that every place has stories waiting to be discovered.

Even quietly watching wildlife becomes a kind of play.

Sitting on the porch with morning coffee while birds chatter overhead. Watching squirrels perform impossible acrobatics. Listening to bees hum through wildflowers while butterflies drift from bloom to bloom.

Nothing is happening.

And somehow, everything is happening.

Play isn't childish.

It's restorative.

Practice: Do Something Just Because It's Fun

Today, give yourself permission to do something with absolutely no productive purpose.

No checklist.

No measurable outcome.

No goal beyond delight.

Fly the kite.

Buy the ice cream.

Skip the rocks.

Dance in the kitchen.

Take the scenic route.

Laugh until you snort.

Whatever reminds you what it feels like to simply enjoy being alive.

Reflection: When was the last time I lost track of time because I was having fun?

Carrying the Light Forward

This week has been a gentle invitation to step away from our routines and rediscover the parts of ourselves that come alive when we slow down. We've wandered without purpose, rested without guilt, and remembered that restoration isn't something we earn—it's something we need.

Today, we add one more piece to that picture.

Play.

Not because it's productive.

Not because it accomplishes anything.

But because it nourishes something inside us that too often gets neglected.

Joy is not a distraction from living well.

It is part of living well.

May you find moments this week that make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

May you follow your curiosity wherever it leads.

May you rediscover the simple pleasures that once came so naturally.

And may you never become so grown up that you forget how to play.