The Essential Paradox of Play - why something so natural feels so hard

Somewhere along the way, many of us quietly misplaced one of the most natural skills we were born with: the ability to play. Think back—when you were a child, no one sat you down and “taught” you how to play. You just knew. You explored, created, felt joy, tried things, failed, tried again. Play was your language for learning, for making sense of the world, for learning how to get along with others and for discovering yourself.

And yet, as adults, most of us were socialised out of it.

How many times did you hear, “Stop playing around and get back to work” or “Don’t mess with that, you’ll break it” or “Grow up”? Slowly, play became something reserved only for children—certainly not for “serious” grown-ups with responsibilities.

I’ll be honest, for years I avoided it myself. I felt awkward at the thought of being playful. I was scared of looking silly or being judged as childish. So I limited my “play” to humour and joking when I was around adults. I 'played' with ideas in my art studio rarely letting anyone see my 'failures'. But most of all I reserved my silliness and play-fullness for the safe company of my kids...because they were kids and they didn't see it as silly.

But here’s the thing: play is not frivolous. It’s not a distraction from “real life.”

There is a purpose to play beyond ‘fun’, it's nature’s way of gifting us with a skill to learn and explore. Research tells us that play is hardwired into our biology as part of the animal kingdom. It builds our brains, strengthens our relationships, and grows our capacity to handle challenges. And yet, in the culture of busyness and productivity, we’ve been taught that play is the enemy of progress.

A play mindset gives us permission to explore, create, and learn without pressure. It lets us test ideas, try on different versions of ourselves, and discover new ways forward.

And here’s the Paradox: play isn’t always fun or comfortable!

Sometimes it’s frustrating, messy, even uncomfortable. But the “success” of play isn’t in what you produce—it’s in the act of doing, of allowing, of experimenting.

So the real question is not why did we stop playing? but

How do we start again?

What comes up for you if I asked you to “just play with it”?

Would you feel curious, free, experimental?

Or would you feel resistant, uncomfortable, even fearful?

For me, when someone says they’re “just playing with it,” I take it to mean they’re exploring without attachment to the outcome. They’re not chasing perfection. They’re open to failing—because failure is not a problem, it’s part of the process. Kids know this instinctively: fall down, get up, try again.

So here’s my invitation: reflect on what play means to you now, as the adult you are today.

Where does resistance show up? And how might life feel different if you gave yourself permission to play again—not for an outcome, not to be productive, but simply because it’s your birthright?