Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
They say age makes you wiser, but I think it also tempts you to forget how to play. Somewhere between deadlines, grocery lists, and laundry piles, the carefree joy of play starts to slip away—unless someone, or something, reminds you to find it again.
When I think about play now, I think about movement, laughter, and not worrying too much about the outcome. These days, play often looks like sledding down the hill with my kids—rolling off at the bottom, snow-covered and breathless with laughter. It looks like raking leaves together, watching them pile up, then jumping straight in—laughing as the leaves fly higher than our expectations.
When the seasons turn, play moves outside in new ways. In summer, it means packing up for a day at the beach—building sandcastles that never quite survive the waves or racing along the water’s edge until our feet ache from the heat and joy.
On the days we stay home, it’s setting up the sprinkler in the yard, running through it again and again until our shirts cling and the air smells like wet grass and sunshine. My kids remind me daily to keep playing—to stay connected to that easy laughter that hides too easily beneath daily responsibility. They make sure I don’t take life so seriously all the time.
But play doesn’t only happen outdoors or with my children. On my own, I love to play with words and music. Words are my favorite playground. Writing lets me toss thoughts and stories around like pebbles into a stream—watching the ripples spread and change shape as they go.
Music, too, turns ordinary days into something brighter. Whether I’m singing in the car or humming through chores, it shakes loose the to-do list sitting heavy in my mind and makes room for possibility.
Then there’s the kitchen—my most flavorful form of play.
Cooking, for me, is equal parts creativity, science, and surrender. I love experimenting with textures, spices, and colors until they finally mesh just right. Of course, “just right” often takes a few tries. Some experiments end in triumph, others in takeout.
Stir fry is my best teacher; I spent years perfecting the balance between crisp vegetables, tender meat, and a sauce that clings instead of puddles. I’ve made more leathery dinners than I’d like to admit, but somewhere between burnt edges and breakthroughs, I found joy in the process.
Play, for me, is exploration for its own sake—the laughter, the learning, and the freedom to fail without fear. The older I get, the more I realize play isn’t confined to childhood; it’s what keeps us curious, forgiving, and fully alive. Whether I’m chasing my kids through waves, sprinting through sprinklers, scribbling a sentence, or perfecting a stir fry, play reminds me that joy can live inside any moment—if only I let it.
What does play look like for you? Is it laughter with your kids, a creative hobby, or something entirely your own? I’d love to hear how you keep play and curiosity alive in your daily life—share your thoughts in the comments below!
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