We see kids play. We see animals play. We see movie stars and influencers play. But we don’t see adults play very often. This might be a bigger problem than we think.
One time, while walking in downtown Denver, Lisa said to me: I dare you to skip. I was wearing my usual office attire, including a jacket and tie, so the request seemed…I don’t know…dangerous. Lisa knew this and proceeded to push my buttons like Buddy the Elf in an elevator.
“So, you are afraid of what other people think? You are the professor of fun and you tell everyone they should have fun, but you won’t take a risk and do it yourself? Are you afraid you will lose respect or look silly?”
I knew I wasn’t going to win that argument and I immediately gave in. We started skipping down the sidewalk, two professional grown-up, two professors, laughing and playing. I don’t even remember if anyone was watching because once we started having fun, it didn’t matter what anyone thought.
This story popped out of my memory when our friends Adam and Maarten from InnoPlay sent us a video from the Playposium last year in LA. In the video, a group of us were frolicking (yes, that is the correct word) through the streets of late-night LA, jumping, hopping, dancing and skipping. That short video took me back to one of the most playful moments of the past year and reminded me that I wasn’t playing enough today.
This got me thinking about the visibility of play. Consider how infrequently we see other adults play. Yes, there are places and moments–at big concerts and sports events, occasionally on a holiday skating ring or maybe during the weekend softball league. But the truth is, we don’t often see adults delighting in a rain puddle, throwing rocks in a pond or diverting from an errand to spend a moment on the playground. When was the last time you impulsively bought a snow cone on a hot summer day when you weren’t with kids?
It’s one of the paradoxes of play that we don’t see play enough to remember to that play is the thing that we probably need the most.
Humans are programmed to seek out what they need. We look for food when we are hungry, a warm place when we are cold, excitement when we are bored and companionship when we are lonely. We do this instinctually and on a cellular level. We find ourselves craving sunlight and vegetables during the darkest days of the year when our diet is out of whack. We look for laughter when we need picking up and bond over angry topics when we need to feel confident. We are seeking machines. And we desire to play all the time to grow, evolve, learn and connect.
The trick is that we are also pretty lazy. If you are hungry and your house is full of snack food, Doritos it is. If your mind needs a spark of energy, your iPhone is a moment away. When we need change in our lives, we can ogle influencers talking about exotic places we should visit or look to pundits to summarize books we should, but will never, read. Our system knows what it needs, but our energy-saving convenience system will always point us to the lowest-hanging fruit, rotten or otherwise.
This is why the visibility of options becomes so essential. If your cupboard has chips and apples, you still have to choose, but the convenience is leveled out. When you keep a book on your bedstand, it’s a reminder that there are other ways to fill your mind than social media in reach. And when your body feels that itch that play can uniquely scratch, we need to remember that skipping is as easy as playing Wordle.
This isn’t a call to ban modern forms of play or to suggest that skipping is more playful than word games. Instead, this is an observation about how play surrounds us, but when it is invisible, we are tempted by the world around us to spend our playtime watching Netflix, dabbling in online gambling or going drinking at a bar.
Or take it back to the top. Almost a year ago, I was skipping through the streets of LA with some of the most interesting, joyful and playfully rebellious people I know. Then, we all went our different ways, returning to our jobs, families, and responsibilities. And I haven’t skipped once since. What I needed was what that video showed. I needed to see other grownups acting, not like kids, but like playful adults. I need to see a perfectly put-together businessman skipping down the street, pausing to enjoy a game of hopscotch or shooting his trash into the garbage like Larry Bird. Swoosh. I need to see play to help me be playful.
Which is to say: We need adult play to be as diverse and authentic as child’s play. And to get there it needs to be more visible. I’ve been that person dancing down a rainy street, the guy in a bar showing random strangers card tricks and inventing the office potluck where everyone brings food they don’t like, but most people do (the Yuck Luck). I don’t have an excuse. But I can’t do this alone. I need to see more play to remind me to play more and let the virtuous cycle continue.
The next time you feel like telling a joke in an elevator of strangers, taking a spin on the monkey bars or just skipping, do it. Not only is it good for you, but someone might be watching and reminded that it’s their turn next. As Van Halen sagely noted: Might as well jump.