“So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his bear will always be playing.”– A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
In the heart of New York, amidst the bustling city life and the never-ending hustle, a young mother was raising two boys. That mother was me. Fresh out of youth myself, and without the close support of my own parents, I found myself yearning for a community, a sense of home to give my children the childhood I imagined for them. This longing drove us back to Pittsburgh, into the welcoming but cramped arms of my parents’ home.
Life was tight in those early days back home. The walls of my parents’ house seemed to close in sometimes, filled with the echoes of laughter and the inevitable clashes that come with too many people sharing too little space. But this period was merely a stepping stone to something better. I landed a great job, and soon, we were moving into a beautiful loft. It was our own space, our sanctuary.
Raising my children, I embraced every moment—from walking them to the bus stop to preparing their favorite meals as we shared our day’s stories. “What do you want for dinner?” became our morning ritual, their answers bringing a sense of normalcy and joy to our lives. As they grew, so did our adventures and misadventures, each day weaving a tighter bond between us. By the time they reached college, I was confident that no moment had been lost to the void of ‘could haves’ and ‘should haves.’
But then, suddenly, the nest was empty. The silence was deafening. After years of prioritizing my children, the sudden shift left me unmoored. The transition was jarring—I had lost my bearings. I wasn’t just an empty nester; I felt like I had lost my identity. I had plunged headlong into a crisis, not because of what I had done, but because of what I had ceased to do—I stopped playing.
The realization hit me gradually. Today’s relentless grind demands so much from us—work, social commitments, endless responsibilities. We’re told to hustle, to grind it out for success, often at the expense of those moments that truly count. And it’s not just parents who feel this; it’s anyone caught in the hamster wheel of modern life. We forego play for productivity, laughter for labor, and family for finances.
But here’s the truth I’ve learned: **playing isn’t just for children**. Play is the language of connection, creativity, and joy. It’s essential for all, whether you’re raising children, building careers, or simply trying to find your way through life’s maze. If you find yourself alone, remember that solitude doesn’t have to lead to loneliness. Embrace companionship in any form—it could be friends, community, or a pet (yes, even a raccoon, if that brings you joy!).
So, how do we reclaim our ‘play’? It starts by pausing. Evaluate what’s truly important. Sometimes, stepping back isn’t a setback; it’s an act of reclaiming the joy and peace we’ve sacrificed on the altar of success. Make time for what delights your heart, engages your mind, and soothes your soul. Cook that family dinner, plan that game night, take that spontaneous road trip. Remember, no one on their deathbed wishes they spent more time at the office.
In closing, let me leave you with this thought: “Life is a play that does not allow testing. So, sing, cry, dance, laugh, and live intensely, before the curtain closes and the piece ends with no applause.” – Live like there’s no tomorrow because, in the truest sense, all we have is now.
Embrace the joy of playing, whatever your stage in life. It’s never too late to join the game.
