Maybe We Don't Need More Entertainment. Maybe We Need More Play.

A few weeks ago, we had family visiting from Portland, Oregon, so the local crew gathered at my sister's house for dinner. My sister has a tennis court, which made it pretty easy for someone to suggest a game of kickball. Before long, we were dividing teams, chalking bases onto the court, establishing the automatic-out rules, and figuring out how to make teams that included everyone from a two-and-a-half-year-old to those somewhere in their 40s and 50s.

And then we played.

We kicked. We ran bases. We talked smack. Some people were predictably competitive, while others could not have cared less who won. The older kids helped the younger kids figure out where to run. At one point, a forty-something-year-old adult nearly took out the two-and-a-half-year-old trying to get to first base. Apparently, age and perspective do not completely eliminate the competitive instinct. We laughed, got a good sweat going, and for however long the game lasted, everyone was simply in it.

One thing struck me later. One of my younger cousins, who is around 10, had never played kickball before. There is certainly no requirement that every child in America know how to play kickball, and I am not interested in another version of "kids these days." But it did make me think about how much play has changed. There seems to be more structure now, more scheduled activities, more organized sports, more entertainment available at any moment, and maybe fewer times when somebody just looks around and says, "Let's play."

I have always been someone who likes to have fun. I tend to be spontaneous, up for an adventure, and generally willing to participate in some antics. Growing up, fun was usually with other people, and much of it was completely unplanned. We played kick the can and capture the flag. We rode our bikes around the neighborhood. We rolled houses. We made prank calls. We sometimes even got our grandmothers involved in the pranks. By the time I was in college, I had somehow developed an entire prank-call identity. Her name was Peggy Webb, the name of a neighbor from where I grew up. There was no particular reason for choosing Peggy Webb other than the fact that it had the right flow. If I was calling, apparently Peggy Webb had business to conduct.

Of course, prank calling doesn't work quite as well in the age of caller ID, and I am not necessarily advocating a return to harassing unsuspecting neighbors. But when I think about those years, I realize that so much of the fun was spontaneous and participatory. It got us outside of our normal routine. It loosened us up. It made us laugh, and often it gave us stories that we would tell for years afterward.

We weren't trying to preserve life. We were participating in it.

I wonder if somewhere along the way, many of us started doing more preserving and less participating.

Some of that is simply adulthood. There are jobs to do, mortgages and bills to pay, families to care for, aging parents, health concerns, schedules, appointments, and responsibilities that are very real. Time becomes more limited, and life naturally requires more from us. But I also wonder whether our increasingly structured and connected world has quietly changed our relationship with fun.

Because we certainly aren't lacking entertainment. Though being entertained isn’t the same thing as having fun. 

We have more entertainment available to us than probably any generation in history. We can watch anything, almost anywhere, at any time. We watch other people travel, cook, renovate houses, dance, pull pranks, play sports, play games, try restaurants, open packages, and sometimes simply live their lives. We can spend hours being entertained without ever really doing anything ourselves.

And I am increasingly convinced that being entertained is not the same thing as having fun.

There is something different about participating. Fun asks something of us. It requires us to get off the couch, leave the sidelines, risk looking a little ridiculous, interact with other people, and sometimes do something we aren't particularly good at. It also creates something passive entertainment rarely does in quite the same way: shared memories.

Maybe that is part of why I have been interested in the recent cultural conversation around "whimsy." There seems to be a growing appetite for things that are playful, tactile, social, a little unexpected, and very much in real life. I see it even here in North Carolina. Mahjong seems to be taking over among women. Everywhere I turn, someone is learning to play, going to a mahjong night, or inviting friends over to play. People are gathering for book clubs, pickleball, run clubs, craft nights, games, and other activities that require actually showing up.

Over Labor Day weekend my family recently tie-dyed some shirts. Not because we needed a new skill. Not because we were trying to improve ourselves. Not because tie-dye was going to become my newest side hustle. We just wanted to do it. It was fun to see everyone work their design and pick their colors. 

Maybe that is part of what we are craving.

So much of adult life is built around outcomes. We exercise for our health. We run to train for a race. We read to become more informed. We track our sleep. We count our steps. We travel with itineraries. We turn hobbies into side businesses and experiences into content. Even the things that are supposed to help us relax can somehow become another area in which we are trying to improve ourselves.

We are remarkably good at optimizing life.

Maybe we have optimized some of the fun right out of it.

Play doesn't really care about the outcome. You can be terrible at mahjong and still have fun. You can make an ugly tie-dye shirt. You can miss the kickball completely. You can build something out of Legos that serves absolutely no purpose. You can lose the game. You can look ridiculous. None of it has to make you healthier, wealthier, more productive, more impressive, or more successful. Play is simply about participating.

And maybe that is also why play can feel like freedom. Play gives us a little room to loosen our grip. It lets us be present, laugh with other people, try something without knowing the outcome, and remember that we are more than all the things we accomplish and all the responsibilities we carry.

For a little while on my sister's tennis court, nobody's age really mattered. Kids and adults were playing the same game. The competitive ones were competitive. The laid-back ones were laid-back. The older kids helped the little ones. Everyone got to be exactly who they were, and everyone was in the game.

If it has been a while since you played, maybe start by remembering what you loved when you were younger. What did you do before you cared whether you were good at it? What made you laugh? What did you do with your friends when there was no purpose, plan, or desired outcome?

Then find the adult version of it.

Get some Legos. Buy the tie-dye kit. Invite people over for a game. Learn mahjong. Throw a ball in the backyard. Dance. Get some people together and play kickball. Do something you're not particularly good at and resist the urge to become good at it. Maybe even do something a little ridiculous.

If play was never easy for you, perhaps this is your chance to experiment with it now. You don't have to become spontaneous overnight or suddenly develop an alter ego named Peggy Webb. You can simply begin asking a question we probably asked much more naturally when we were younger: Would this be fun?

For all the conversations about self-care, slowing down, resting, and taking better care of ourselves, perhaps some of us don't only need more rest. Maybe we need more play. Maybe we don't need another way to be entertained. Maybe we need to stop watching everyone else have the fun and participate in some of it ourselves.

Those of us of a certain age grew up with Cyndi Lauper reminding us that girls just want to have fun. Maybe she was onto something.

Life is serious. There are serious things happening all around us, and there will always be responsibilities that deserve our attention. Play doesn't deny any of that. It simply reminds us that being alive is about more than managing life well.

Sometimes, we need to play.
About the Author
Sarah Currie, Ph.D., LCMHC, is a counselor, writer, and speaker exploring the questions that shape how we live, connect, and grow.