My whole family currently (finally) has Covid and I’m tired and grouchy and can’t think straight. I wrote most of the following words last week when I was happier and smarter, but I’m returning to them now because cranky days are excellent times to talk about play.
As I said last week, there are many definitions of “play,” but all agree on two things: engagement and enjoyment. Some definitions limit play to children or sports, but there’s consensus about the why. We don’t do the activity because it’s practical or purposeful, but because we love it.
In my first published essay, I wrote this about my friend Lisa:
. . . she taught me that play and magic and time travel don’t have to disappear when you grow up. She owned a collection of found baby shoes. She left notebooks in the park for strangers to find and would bring me little presents for no reason. For her, headphones was an activity—she’d sit in her room alone and be transported to the world according to Björk. She texted cryptically and renamed the boys in her life: The Skeptic, The Vegan. She saw in me what I couldn’t; she taught me to uncover what’s already there.
I was 20 when I met Lisa, already accustomed to compliments of being “mature” and “so capable” for my age. Her embrace of youthful silliness was jarring—I was scared people would find out I was a fraud. I believed adulting was inherently serious and play immature. But in this sprite I found a girl (we didn’t call ourselves women yet) who liked hanging out with herself. Lisa is still my Patron Saint of Play.
For me, the past 15 years have been a winding journey of remembering and forgetting play. It usually vanishes when I fall prey to the popular belief that fun is some kind of elitist luxury to be awarded only after all serious adult duties have been taken care of. Spoiler alert: if your life includes any combination of jobs, dependents, illness, partners, financial challenges, community obligations or todo lists, that day will never come.
I’m terrible at time management and have a shitty short-term memory. If I don’t write down a plan for the next day, I wake up already a few steps behind. I currently use a legal pad to write out the schedule for the next day alongside a running to-do list for the week. Every night (or when I remember), I tear off the top sheet and rewrite everything I didn’t get to, a technique I learned from my partner Ken.
This might not sound like play. It isn’t. It’s a slog. But if I don’t write a thing down on that legal pad, it absolutely will not happen.
Which brings me to your assignment. ICYMI: I plan to send out 2-3 newsletters a month and include a small assignment in each. I tend to follow through when instructions come from the outside, and hope you find nudges helpful too. If assignments stress you out, ignore them. Only do the things that sound fun.
Assignment: Find one hour—a specific time on a specific day—in the coming week to set aside for play. Multiple voices will insist there isn’t time. Do what you have to. Write it on your arm, put a post-it on the bathroom mirror, hand your phone to a family member. Play on the subway, in your car, on the ferry (I live on an island), whatever it takes.
Play can take a million shapes. It’s yours to define, as long as you’re not doing it because it seems practical or purposeful or you want approval from others. If there’s a goal in mind, it probably isn’t play (work and play can absolutely coexist, but for today it’s not what I mean). If you have a child, playing with them doesn’t count (see work disclaimer). Spend your hour alone doing something you love.
If you can’t remember what that means, ask yourself what you used to do before. Before the job(s), or the kid(s), or the accident, or the lawsuit. The hour can be playful, but it doesn’t have to be. If you like sitting in a folding metal chair reading dense philosophy just because it makes you feel alive, do that.
Have fun. Maybe you’ll remember something you’ve forgotten.
aw man, i was just wishing for a newsletter like this the other day and substack just recommended it to me. striving to be lisa (figuratively) and excited for your new stuff🤞
I love reading Serena’s writing, and now it includes a pathway to play. Last week, I set aside an hour as suggested—which felt doable and exciting. I played with sewing. Serena’s writing helped me to approach the sewing from a dynamic state, open to possibility, and I think helped me create something in a novel way, that I wouldn’t have come to otherwise. I look forward to this week’s play, and trying to come at it from the fresh place of possibility that is play. Thanks Serena.