Permission to Play

Do you remember screaming into your driveway, fishtailing your Dukes of Hazzard Big Wheel, shoes untied, chapped upper lip, and a belly full of Mom’s lunchtime quesadillas? Think harder — it’s in there somewhere. Or maybe for some of you, it feels like yesterday.

The other day, I found myself feeling morose. No real reason. Just kind of kicking the proverbial can down a road to nowhere. In an attempt to lift my spirits, I began to think of things that usually help. An ice-cold beer at the end of the day always makes me smile. But then I thought some more…

I was looking forward to that beer because it’s a relief. You made it. You survived the pushes, pulls, and demands, and this frosty beverage says, “Relax… you made it… good job.”

Which begs the question: Am I simply surviving each day?

If I am, I shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t there be some level of enjoyment? A lightness to it all?

And then it occurred to me: When was the last time I did something that channeled that inner child who rode a Big Wheel with a belly full of quesadillas? When was the last time I… played?

Yes — play. A word not often thrown around at this stage of life. It seems childish, but stick with me…

According to Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga, “Play is a free activity standing quite consciously outside ‘ordinary’ life as being ‘not serious,’ but at the same time absorbing the player intensely and utterly. It is an activity connected with no material interest, and no profit can be gained by it.”

When was the last time you stood outside the ordinary? Or left the analytical-mind bullshit at the door?

I suspect it’s been a while for many of you. It was for me.

So I untied my shoes, ate a quesadilla, pulled a tarp out of the garage, and went surfing with the two who know how to play best: my 10- and 8-year-old boys.

Turns out, ordinary isn’t really where life resides after all.

Permission to play. See you out there.