Discovering Play Again While Navigating Life’s Crossroads

It’s intriguing how play can quickly be relegated to the bottom of a “to do list” as an adult – if it’s even there at all.

This past year, I knew I needed something that would combine movement, fresh air, and laughter to balance the chaos and heaviness in my work environment. Through the process of searching for what this might be, I rediscovered play.

Following my father’s passing late last fall, I was laid off twice from different offices within months in Washington D.C. After these consecutive losses and an unexpected move across the country, incorporating play at times feels complicated for me. Yet I realize it’s just as important, if not more, in these moments.

In early January, dressed in a stretchy pink top and a bulky winter jacket, I met my pickleball instructor for the first time. He greeted me with a quick “nice to meet you” while pulling two carts filled with paddles and what seemed to me like an endless number of bright yellow and orange balls with holes. It was 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday, and I felt the frigid wind blowing against my tomato-colored nose.

Initially, I struggled to get the correct grip and hit the balls in even remotely the right direction. Nonetheless, there was something about the combination of learning a new game outdoors in a social environment that made me forget, at least for an hour, about my reality outside that court.

As I smelled the baking bread from a grocery store nearby, I burst into laughter while running to find the balls that landed on the other side of the forest green practice wall. I recognized how much I loved this type of play. It became what I looked forward to early on Sunday mornings for the rest of the spring.

Theater director Viola Spolin describes how:

“[p]lay touches and stimulates vitality, awakening the whole person—mind and body, intelligence and creativity, spontaneity and intuition.”

Over time, these pickleball sessions inspired me to reflect further about my experiences of play.

As a first grader in elementary school, I remember how much I loved the swings and the joy I felt as a cool breeze brushed against my face every time I extended my legs forward with a jolt of anticipation. As I swung higher and higher, I felt freer and more powerful while looking out onto the rest of the playground beneath me.

I also recall how in the middle of northern Minnesotan winters I would stand on top of the silver monkey bars at my childhood home and do front flips into piles of fresh airy snow just below. It took at least half my time to simply get the snow shoveled together in a way that was just right to support my, at times, tumultuous landings. The flips felt liberating and exciting. This type of play also gave me a feeling of rebellion and doing something my parents might not necessarily approve of, even though I was learning front tucks in gymnastics class. But beyond elementary school, my memories of play get fuzzier.

It wasn’t until my early 20 that things started to shift. While visiting El Salvador, I had the opportunity to dress up as a clown during a local theater group’s Christmas celebration with kids in a rural community. While I don’t remember the specific games we played, I do remember one thing: the uproarious laughter – not only from the children but my own.

During that same decade, performing salsa and bachata in dance shows in Minnesota and New York often felt like play for me as an adult. There were definitely moments of concentration and seriousness while learning and remembering all the steps. I remember bringing my phone to Central Park in Manhattan to study the choreography of a salsa dance I needed to learn quickly.

Yet, once the muscle memory began to take over, I loved the fun of the rehearsals and performing. The combined playful energy, camaraderie, and connection with other dancers often gave me a feeling of bliss, flow, and being on top of the world.

However, as I became increasingly career focused, I played less in general as the years went by. I focused on working hard to build a successful career and often sacrificed play. I would tell myself that I was tired and could go to the salsa class the following week – but then this pattern became more common for me over time. Still, developing grit and experiencing high achievement in my career didn’t give me the happiness I was looking for. I had overlooked the importance of play.

As I write this I notice a sensation of heaviness in my chest remembering the missed opportunities. Psychologist Peter Gray shares how:

“[t]he drive to play freely is a basic, biological drive. Lack of free play may not kill the physical body, as would lack of air, food, or water, but it kills the spirit and stunts mental growth.”

His words resonate with my experience. I feel the longing for more play in the future as I heal and rebuild after transition and loss.

Nevertheless, this past week on the one-year anniversary of my father’s death, play also brings up mixed emotions for me. I’m reminded of a moment when my dad and I played catch in our backyard. While there is happiness in this image for me, grief also comes up because I don’t recall many memories of play and laughter between me and my dad.

At the same time, another part of me isn’t sure how it feels about play while I’m still experiencing grief. My inner critic also asks, is this what someone who is trying to figure out their next steps supposed to be doing? There is a part of me that wants to focus first on working hard and then, once I’m successful, I can play. Nevertheless, I patiently wait for these protector parts to give me space so that I can listen to what I need.

Then, last night after the sun went down, clarity appeared. I saw in my emails an announcement that salsa and bachata classes would be launching on Tuesday at a dance studio within walking distance from my apartment. Almost instantly, I felt the urge to listen to “Salsa Con Coco” and start dancing. So I did.

The music and my steps also encouraged my cat Leo to begin playing. I found a random string that I dangled in front of him as he jumped up and then waited patiently for his next pounce. Finally, towards the end of the song, I picked him up and held him for a few seconds as I swayed back and forth and moved my feet to the rhythm.

After so much loss and transition, this moment made me feel alive and grateful. I realized I didn’t necessarily have to put play on a to-do list. While it can be planned, it might also be spontaneous. Regardless of creating that list or not, I’m reminded of what Kay Redfield Jamison shares: “Play is not a luxury. Play is a necessity.” I agree.

(Originally posted on Substack on November 5 2025)