When did you stop playing?

When was the last time you played? Or allowed yourself unstructured time where curiosity could lead you somewhere unexpected?

Is the word play still in your lexicon, or have you quietly dismissed it as something reserved for kids, not a legitimate form of connection, curiosity, or creativity?

An awesome client gifted me the book Playful by Cas Holman, where she explores how play can shift our thinking and open us up to deeper connection.

Here is one line from the book that resonated for me:

“Play is the freedom to imagine within constraints.”

That idea feels important right now.

“Let’s take a dance class with mimosas and learn choreography from a popular 80s music video.”

“What about flying trapeze?”

“Roller skating?”

These were just a few of the ideas I floated to my husband and friends while talking about my birthday, which happens to land on New Year’s Eve.

A couple of years ago, I rented a studio, hosted jazz dance and mimosas, and had a friend teach choreography from Michael Jackson’s Beat It video. It was ridiculous and joyful and so much fun. So I thought, why not do that again?

This year, though, it defaulted to drinks and food. Still wonderful. Still full of incredible humans. And yet, it got me thinking.

Why is it so hard for adults to play? And why, when we do try, do we feel like we need so much structure to make it acceptable?

This is where improv comes in for me. This is why I do it. This is why I created ​The Practice Room​ for speakers.

Yes, there’s structure. But sometimes I intentionally offer very little. Just a few suggestions. A light frame. Enough to begin, but not enough to dictate the outcome.

It’s not that different from a kid alone in a room with their toys, or an art kit, or a stack of paper and some markers. What makes the magic isn’t the instructions. It’s the imagination. The curiosity. The willingness to explore without knowing exactly where it’s going.

I keep coming back to this idea that when things are limited, when options are fewer, we actually get more creative. We listen differently. We try things we wouldn’t try if everything were spelled out.

Play doesn’t disappear because we grow up. We just forget how to make space for it.

And maybe the real question isn’t whether we have time to play, but whether we’re willing to trust what might emerge when we do.

Here is an invitation for you:

Create a small container for play. Ten minutes is enough.

Pick one limit on purpose. One question.

One prompt.

One object.

Then let yourself explore without trying to make it productive.

That might look like setting a timer for ten minutes and writing whatever comes to mind from a single word. Or walking one block without headphones and noticing what pulls your attention. Or solving a small problem at work using only three ideas before judging any of them.

Notice what you notice. Meaning, just notice what shows up when curiosity leads instead of efficiency.

If it feels uncomfortable, you’re probably doing it right.

You don’t need more time. You just need a little space, and permission to not know where it’s going.