Self-Conscious Play
Yesterday I wrote that the presence of a little play might “ease the transition to whatever comes next [and] infuse whatever comes next with the energy to see it through.”
The whole piece was somewhat self-referential because writing, in that moment, felt like play.
So now, having experienced a little play, is it possible for me to return to writing for a second straight morning, and still consider it play? Can play be play when it’s self-conscious play?
Let’s take a minute to consider what felt playful about my writing yesterday:
No plan. My morning routine hasn’t recently included writing, so it was spontaneous to jot something down.
No (conscious) form. There wasn’t any re-organizing of paragraphs or chasing of structure, no attempt to sketch out the flow before the writing began.
No editing (well not really). The words remain (mostly) as they were written first, even though a second read could have tightened phrases or clarified ideas.
Here’s what I notice about the list above — each item is framed in the negative. I might surmise, from reading my list, that play is only definable in terms of absence. In other words, definable by what isn’t there when I’m playing — plans, forms, edits. This morning’s writing could be seen as a fall from play because at least two elements, absent from yesterday’s experience are present now — I was drawn to write because I’d done it yesterday (plan) and I reached for a free-form blog style (form). The only thing that I’m not really doing is editing.
If I’m being honest, this entire reflection is starting to feel a little forced, like I’m trying to play with an infinite ball of yarn, but believing that finding its end is possible or important or preferable (when another part of me clearly knows that it’s not). As I read that sentence over, it occurs to me that this is all sounding a little bit like play. But as I move on and try to tell you why, I’m still reaching for the negative — it’s play because there’s no point, because the ball of yarn has no end, etc.
So what does it feel like to pursue play in the positive? What is present, rather than absent, when I’m playing?
Here’s what’s present now:
Boredom. This feels a little tedious, repetitive.
Tension. There’s some frustration, like I’m stuck in a pattern.
Distraction. There’s something better to do than see this through.
A part of me says, “you’re not playing.”
Although, if I tune into the far reaches of my mind, it seems like there’s a 5-year-old part of me that remembers feeling bored, tense, and distracted on the playground. He’s reminding me that when he felt this way, he came up with games, rules (adult me would call these creative constraints), and quests.
Is the intent to play, as one has played before, both the first barrier and the necessary gateway to experiencing something playful (again)?
Could the boredom, tension, and distraction be pre-cursors to play? Maybe they’re even part of play, not just part of reaching play?
I’ll play with that today.