The church meeting room smelled like cleaning supplies and damp basement. I tested the mic and arranged my things–presentation clicker, notes, and large, stuffed beaver–by the podium.
In the back of the room, on a plastic folding table, I spread out some sensory games: opaque bags filled with different items–guess what’s inside without seeing, like a raccoon using its hands at night; various “foods” and tools to pick them up with–which bird beak matches which bird meal?
I was a US national park ranger, mostly working with children in schools and in our park. But tonight I was giving a talk for adults, an environmental group that met once a month. I was there to teach them about my work.
As the adults filed in and passed my table, I noticed that they wouldn’t even look at the games. “We’re not children,” a woman said with a derisive sniff. “There are no children coming tonight,” a man informed me.
I nodded and smiled, amused by how offended they seemed to be that I was displaying some of the activities I used with kids. And confused as to why they wouldn’t try them. Stuffing your hand in a bag and discovering a rubber centipede inside is always a fun time, no matter your age.
During my talk, I tried to address their attitudes toward play. “Many of the activities I do connect to a child’s sense of wonder and fun–building tiny, imaginary worlds, mapping treasure hunts, pretending to be animals. Play isn’t just fun for children; it’s how they learn about the world around them.
“And our need for play doesn’t stop as we age. In fact, I would argue that finding ways to play becomes more important as we grow up.”
In an essay called “On Three Ways of Writing for Children,” C.S. Lewis declared his love of fairy tales and how he learned as he aged to be proud and open about this love. “When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”
We may shed some interests and gain new ones as we mature into adults, but we do not lose our need for wonder or fun or play. I say need, not desire, because research tells us that play is fundamental to our wellbeing at any age.
Recent studies show that playing video games helps adults combat depression by encouraging them to focus on a goal and providing moments of reward and joy.
According to Dr. Stuart Brown, author of the book Play: How it Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul, “The opposite of play is not work–the opposite of play is depression.”
In the UK, Brown founded the National Institute For Play, which touts the copious benefits of play and encourages adults to discover their “play personality.” There are numerous ways to play, and what is playful for one adult may not be playful for another.
Perhaps you enjoy playing board games or softball or baking elaborately decorated desserts. Perhaps these activities stress you out, and you’d prefer to read a nice fairytale like C.S. Lewis. Perhaps you have no idea where to start.
If you are struggling with how to play as an adult, you are not alone. So many of us forget or abandon this vital skill as we age. Like the audience for my ranger talk, so many people have fought to distance themselves for so long from anything “childish” that they have lost their connection to the child they once were.
According to the National Institute For Play, when we are trying to relearn how to play, it helps to try to remember what we enjoyed doing as children. Look for the things that make you lose all sense of time; the things that carry you away from the world in the best way. This is play.
Another method is to try something new that sounds fun. You may like it, you may not, but focus on the joy of trying new things.
And if all else fails, dance. Dance seems to be an almost universal antidote for suffering; studies demonstrate that dance ameliorates symptoms of depression and anxiety in those of any age.
It can really be as simple as dancing our cares away.
At the conclusion of my talk in the church meeting room, I held up a plush beaver toy, so large a child’s arms could barely latch around it. It had a soft, flat tail, round rump, ridiculous buck teeth, and warm, brown eyes. I explained how I had once offered the toy to a crying child who spoke no English and, according to her teacher, had experienced indescribable trauma on her journey to the United States.
I made the beaver dance a bit for the girl, and she smiled. Then I handed it to her to snuggle for the duration of my classroom lesson. As I was leaving, she kissed the beaver and hugged me, all smiles, tears forgotten. I didn’t solve her problems, but a bit of play lifted her spirits.
“I’m not telling you this because I want you to know I made a crying child smile,” I told the adults. “That was my job and my privilege.
“I’m telling you this story as a reminder of how to get yourselves to smile. There is nothing that I did for that child that we cannot do for ourselves. We can seek and embrace moments of joy.”
Play is medicine for our souls. If you wouldn’t deny yourself medicine when you are sick, don’t deny yourself play when you are sad or anxious or in need of a reminder of how wondrous your life is.
When we are offered a dancing stuffed animal, even as adults, we can grab it with both hands; we can choose to dance with it. We can laugh and smile and play. These things are not childish. When it’s all done, they may be the best moments of our lives.