Ok, so, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to write for this week, and nothing was quite landing. You know that feeling when every idea feels almost right but not quite? I even went digging through old articles on the Epiphany Space site, hoping I could rewind an old Spark that I had written on play. But, as it turns out, I had already done that.

Maybe I just needed to think harder.  I know I have to have PLAY in my life somewhere.

Looking at that first (and second) Spark article, it focused on my childhood: Barbies, Cabbage Patch Kids, and playing outside all day.  The way my friends and I would create entire worlds out of nothing.  We turned an ordinary Saturday into something imaginative. 

Most of it was probably brought on by the sheer boredom that seemed to hit mid-summer in the 80s, but we built carnivals in the backyard, staged plays we wrote ourselves, and invented games that only made sense to us. 

We were constantly creating.

And somewhere along the way, that stopped.

Or at least, it changed.

That realization hit me harder than I expected. I hate that we lose that part of ourselves as we get older. I don’t like how easily play gets replaced with productivity, schedules, and expectations.  I was starting to think that I’m not really great at playing anymore. 

Then I thought about that poem I wrote for my friend called “All the Holes” and realized that play is alive and well with me. 

Play has evolved, but it’s still there.

A couple of years ago, I started a running joke with a friend. I wrote her a “poem” that was nothing more than a list of every type of “hole” I could think of. A rabbit hole, a black hole, a worm hole; you get the idea.   I’ll spare you from reading the poem, which is about 85 holes long. 

And I keep adding to it.

I added three holes this weekend: Cornhole, Fishin’ hole, and Loophole. How were these not on the list?!?

Whenever I think of a new one, I text it to her. It takes maybe a few seconds, and yet it always makes us laugh. 

It’s completely ridiculous and entirely unnecessary.

Which is exactly why it matters.

So, let’s keep going.  What else is play?

I really do love going to concerts.  It’s probably my favorite type of fun to have as an adult. The venue feels alive with energy.  My friend Christine is my concert buddy.  She’s probably been to 10 of my 18 New Kids on the Block concerts with me.  We've seen P!NK, Barenaked Ladies, and Elton John, to name a few.  She’s flying into Detroit this weekend, and we’re going to see Bruno Mars! 

We’ve screamed, we’ve danced, we’ve almost gotten kicked out of Staples Center (Ok, that was on me, and I’m totally joking…kinda…) 

And then sometimes, instead of building that carnival, play might look like Cortney asking if I want to build a show around our favorite 80s movies.  Or Suzanne mentioning that she has an idea for a show called “Church of the Questioning” that sounds really fun, so I sign up to help her bring it to life.     

At the end of the day, the spirit is still the same. I’m still just creating fun things with my friends. 

That’s what I’m starting to understand about play. Sometimes it’s big or structured or impressive. 

Sometimes it can be loud, like a concert where you lose your voice singing along.  (I would never lose my voice screaming for Donnie Wahlberg…it’s always just from singing…)

It can be small, like writing a silly poem for your friend just for the fun of it.

Or, it can be tiny, like sending a ridiculous text that makes someone laugh.

It can even feel a little awkward at first, especially if you’re out of practice.

But it’s still there.

I think we often assume that play belongs to childhood, that it’s something we grow out of. But maybe it’s something we just stop prioritizing. Maybe it gets buried under responsibility and routine, waiting for us to remember it’s allowed.

So lately, I’ve been asking myself a simple question:

What does play look like for me now since I can’t go to a concert every weekend?

Not what did it look like. Not what should it look like. Just… what does it look like NOW?

And maybe the better question is one I’ll pass on to you:

Where does play show up in your life?

It might not look like sitting on the floor with toys anymore. It might not be as obvious or as frequent. But I have a feeling it’s there, in small moments you might overlook.

Maybe it’s painting, or crafting, or making music.
Maybe it’s dancing in your kitchen.
Maybe it’s inside a joke, a spontaneous idea, or something that makes you laugh for no real reason.

Maybe it’s something you haven’t done in a while, but miss more than you realized.

Whatever it is, it’s worth noticing.

Because play isn’t just a way to pass the time. It’s a way back to something essential. Something creative, joyful, and deeply human.