Go Play.

All too often as I kid, I was told to “go play.” And almost every time, I was happy to oblige. Backyards became battlefields. Streets became speedways. Open fields became open ranges. By that point I had outgrown “childish” games such as tag, hide-and-seek, or any other game that only required a few friends and a good pair of shoes. My merrymaking had matured. In my career of play I was employed as a cowboy, soldier, archeologist, explorer, stuntman, etc. Dangerous roles that could only be filled by a brave boy. Though the only stakes were maybe a skinned knee and a brief lecture if you came home after the streetlights had come on.

One of my fondest memories from the neighborhood I grew up in is of exploring a drainage tunnel with the kid from up the street. We had gone in armed with only a headlamp and a flashlight. I crouched down and followed him to an unknown source of light at what we had assumed was the end of the tunnel. We found the light source, but never the end.

For a few blissful years, every summer was like that. Spending sunup to sundown racing bikes through the neighborhood, making new friends, exploring the confines of our suburb and pushing the boundaries of our imaginations.

Fast forward about fifteen years. I’m twenty-five years old. A legal “adult,” standing in front of a drainage tunnel with two friends; Austin and Sam. We didn’t grow up in the same neighborhood, but when we became friends at sixteen, we tore the whole town apart.

One of us ventured forth and the other two followed. We didn’t expect to find anything at the other end, but we wanted to see if we could push it as far as we could when we were teenagers. We’d made it pretty deep into the tunnel, but by now it was obvious that our youth had faded. We were winded, sweaty, and complaining of backaches after being hunched over for so long.

“We’re getting too old for this shit.”

In a physical sense, yes. Though in our minds, we were eighteen with seven years of experience. We’d all held down jobs, paid bills, and become “successful” in our own ways. But the impulse to explore, to play, had never left.

The urge to “play” never actually leaves. But our time and energy is more urgently needed elsewhere. I can’t play today, I have to work. I can’t afford to play, I have a bill due. I don’t want to play, I’m too tired.

At some point between adolescence and adulthood, that sense of fun is beaten out of us by the crushing necessities of capitalism and the modern world. Nobody does it, and it becomes taboo. It becomes “immature” to play, in the traditional sense. Adults no longer swing, slide, or sprint. But they still play.

The only difference is that now play is more expensive. Toys are costly. And some playing can only be done in certain areas, like trails, golf courses, and gun ranges. It’s just as competitive as it was when the stakes were the title of “winner,” but the consequences are a lot more serious. Twisted ankles, broken bones, and in some cases, death. Hospital bills cost a fortune, so maybe that’s an explanation as to why nobody plays anymore.

Another explanation is some pitiful fear of judgment. The horror of being looked down upon by our coworkers, neighbors, and complete strangers. People who’d rather spend their time in divorce counseling, or in the checkout line, or selling their soul for the benefit of some demonic corporate entity. People who need more and more expensive toys to play. Sports cars, yachts, or anything requiring you to pay five figures in yearly dues to a club. What happened to the simple stuff?

I took a break from being an adult and returned to Norman to be with my friends. Austin was on leave from the navy and we intended to catch up on lost time. I spent five full days playing. But it looked different than it did when I was ten years old. We explored an apocalyptic wasteland while rummaging through a salvage yard. We crushed a quarter on the tracks to see how much the train would flatten it. We sang at the top of our lungs without fear of judgment. The four core members of our group wore ourselves out playing over those five days.

On the last day, I was approached by a friend’s child. He’s almost four years old. He tugged on my pant leg and asked me to play “hide-and-seek” with him. I was happy to oblige.

“Okay! Should I hide? Or should I seek?”

“Hide!”

“Alright, you count to fifteen, and I’ll find a place to hide.”

He ran over to a fence and buried his face in his arms.

“One. Eight. Sixteen! Ready or not, here I come!”

Of course, he immediately found me. All he had to do was turn around.

“Count again. But this time, give me a chance to find a good place to hide.”

He turned, closed his eyes and I immediately darted for a storage room underneath a staircase. I left the door open just a little bit, but put myself as far out of sight as I could.

“Good God” I thought. “When was the last time I’d played this game?”

The last time I had played this game was on the eve of 2020, the year the world fell apart. Sam and I had invited all of our friends over to ring in the new year. Our last act of 2019 was a game of hide-and-seek. I remember hiding in the attic with at least seven other people, stifling laughter, listening to the confounded seeker below. He eventually found us. But almost two minutes had passed and the child had not found me.

I came out of hiding to find him only a few feet away from where we had started this game. He noticed me and pointed a proud finger.

“Found you! Now I get to hide.”

I gave him a fair fifteen seconds before beginning the chase. He wasn’t in my hiding place, nor under the collection of boards leaning against the fence, nor around the corner… Where could he be? I found him at the front of the house and then hid as he directed.

What a beautiful game we were playing. This child didn’t care that I was an adult. He hadn’t been exposed to the social rules barring me from engaging in basic play. There was no expectation that I couldn’t. Play truly knows no discrimination. Play is for everyone.

But what is the importance of play? And why does it follow us throughout our entire lives? Play is a core aspect of the human experience. It’s an exercise in imagination, creation, a place where YOU make the rules. A place where you have a sense of control in a chaotic world. It lets us escape from such a reality, just briefly, to be something we cannot. Something intrinsic to ourselves. The unrecognized warrior plays as a soldier. The loving caretaker plays as a nurse. It’s an outburst of desire, not obligation. Play is without goals. Nothing can be gained from the experience aside from the experience itself. The means, play, are far more valuable than the ends, because there are no ends. And that adventure into our hidden desires keeps us sane. If done right, it can be stress-free. Maybe that’s why, it its many forms, play still exists.

But now I was done playing. I was tired, sore, and desperately needed a shower. I was headed back to Oklahoma City after an extra long weekend. Back to a world of traffic jams, electricity bills, doctor’s appointments, scam calls, long lines at the grocery store, dirty dishes, drafty windows, dead batteries, landlords, locksmiths, flat tires, paper cuts, early morning alarms, headlines, broken sleep, public restrooms with no toilet paper, toll booths, faulty appliances, deadlines, fake cordiality, missing buttons, sticky keys, cash only bars, deep cleans, local elections, waitlists, nail clippers that disappear when you need them most, and all the other monsters hiding under the bed. Monsters I’d never imagined as a child.

They’re waiting underneath us all as we sleep. So it’s your choice: stay under the covers and hide from the harsh realities that face us.

Or grow up, and play.