Not a big secret that this is something I care about. I write kind of a lot about play and playing. See: yesterday and … pretty much everything else.

Also, I have a Playground, a dedicated space for extreme goofballery.

And tomorrow we begin the fourth quarter at the Kitchen Table, and guess what the theme is? PLAY. Fabulous.

But I haven’t really explained why play is so important. And I can’t.

Not yet. Not like this.

I’m going to need the Schmoppet. And possibly some monsters. And a feather boa. And a duck. Wait, I already have the duck.

But in the meantime, while I hunt around for the damn video camera … I will say this:

Play is the missing ingredient. The secret sauce. That thing that makes everything else easier.

Add play and stir.

Play is vital because otherwise all this self-work self-help working on your crap blah process gunk is exhausting and not fun.

Play takes the piss out of the self-seriousness.

Play gives you permission to not have to get everything right. To experiment and be curious and declare amnesty and to hide in blanket forts. Like at the Rally. (Rally!)

Play makes scary things accessible. And possible.

This is what play does.

It makes deconstructing your patterns less heavy. It dissolves should.

Big (and sometimes intimidating) words get smaller. And sillier.

Big words that I don’t generally use here. Like Forgiveness, Clarity, Faith, Gratitude, Prosperity, Sovereignty.

Okay, I do say sovereignty a lot, but only when I’m wearing my extremely hot sovereignty boots.

The point is: play makes everything feel less … hopeless.

  • Play makes forgiveness lighter.
  • It makes clarity not so blindingly bright.
  • It gives levity to faith.
  • It turns gratitude into a game (that you only play when you feel like it)
  • It takes prosperity and makes it lighthearted and exploratory and fun.
  • It turns sovereignty practice into a ridiculous improv class with people you adore.

It infuses rituals with hilarity. And it gives you permission to get messy.

Play is permission.

If I am playing with destuckification and rewriting my patterns, I don’t have to worry about how or when or why things are shifting. Or if I’m doing it right.

I can’t explain it better than that. This is the part again about how epiphanies are stupid because you can’t put them into words.

But I know this in my body. I know it. I know this in a “this is why the buddha laughed” sort of way.

I have been taking life too seriously.

And not taking play seriously enough.

Selma and I will be back with a Schmoppet. Maybe tomorrow. And it still won’t make sense. But at least we’ll be playing.