Play Date
I only noticed my mascara was running when I walked past the mirror. I had been laughing so hard that flecks of black spurted around my under eyes, and it occurred to me that there was no way to know how long they had been there.
I had been laughing for almost two hours straight.
I kicked off the year at the Green Nest Lodge with eight other women. We came together for four days to celebrate a friend’s birthday with vision boards, yoga, and bonfires.
When I first got the invite, I hadn’t expected to find myself in successive giggle fits. The vacation was billed as a calming retreat to celebrate the last year of the birthday girl’s twenties. I walked in expecting a celebration of womanhood, complete with spilled secrets and maybe some sentimental rituals.
If I’m honest, I was a little nervous to spend so much time with a newer group of friends. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to offer the sincerity the weekend would demand.
True to the itinerary, we pulled tarot cards on the first night. I got Death, which the group informed me was a good thing. It signifies a metamorphosis, they said. Death is the end of something to start something new.
I braced myself to be racked with change. I was certain I’d cry during a breathing circle or be forced to confront something traumatic in a meditation. The death I found was more subtle.
fun-eral
The whole time we were at the retreat, we played. Like a genuine let’s pretend to be mermaids style play.
In between freestyle raps, conversation-stopping farts, and friendship bracelets, I found a piece of myself I had forgotten about. I devolved into the goofy, unashamed kid I was at elementary sleepovers.
Before there were girls’ trips and 29th birthday parties, there were play dates. My childhood best friend and I would roll across the grass cackling while choreographing fake karate fight scenes to Avril Lavigne music. We spent weekends making up worlds, playing M.A.S.H, and daring each other to taste weird concoctions of stuff found in our cupboards and gardens.
Inevitably, we grew and became more aware of ourselves. One day we would jump through neighbourhood sprinklers on the way home from school, the next we had mascara on that we couldn’t risk smudging.
Seeing my makeup smeared at the lodge, I remembered what it was like not to care.
As a perfectionist, I’m constantly evaluating my own behaviour to mitigate embarrassment and maximize output. Whenever I’m not being productive, I’ve convinced myself that I should feel guilty, and my inner monologue is a rotation of you’re not doing enough and everyone thinks you’re annoying.
Play, however, transcends time. It holds your full attention and pulls you away from the traps of self-criticism and comparisons. While we were blowing bubbles and learning headstands, nothing else mattered: Not how we looked, not sticking the landing, and not what came next. Our collective giggles were a Masterclass in mindfulness.
It’s not surprising that playing can improve brain function and build trust. There aren’t any other examples I can think of where feeling stupid is part of the fun (at least not for me). The uninterrupted time acting like an idiot pushed my boundaries of vulnerability, and I experienced a complete release into joy.
Through continual moments of play, our group established a unique friendship. Seeing people’s true laughs - the ugly, gasping-for-breath kind of belly laughs - connects you on another level. We bonded outside the confines of normal adult relationships, where being intentionally loud, gross, or imperfect was celebrated.
As adults, the space to run around like fools gets smaller and smaller. The only environments we embrace play in are the bedroom and the bar. If we saw middle-aged people clambering up monkey bars and frolicking through the office, we’d be concerned. That kind of behaviour is questionable at best, and creepy at worst. Instead, we button up our collars and brave the world with a facade of sheer professionalism, only allowing ourselves silliness in the confines of our own homes or when inebriated.
There are exceptions. My weekly dance classes are an outlet where mistakes are encouraged. Even writing allows for freedom of expression. The difference is that I approach these environments as a woman. I dance to feel empowered. I write to process emotion. Both have logical benefits.
There is no sensible reason to chase your friends around a cabin or howl at the moon beyond that those things are fun. For four days, we were free to act like little girls.
With the fun came waves of sadness. The best friend that carried me through childhood is no longer in my life, and none of my closest circle knew me as a girl. Sometimes it’s lonely. I’m envious of those who have shared memories that span decades.
Out of every beautiful moment of the trip, the most impactful part for me was finding that kind of play and trust as an adult. It was a reminder that my girlhood isn’t lost even if the person I experienced it with is. The right people will still bring that type of joy out of me.
While they laughed in the other room, I looked at my messy reflection and thought about my Death card. After days of laughing, the metamorphosis was clear. It was the end of pining over a lost childhood friend and a reminder that I can have the same kind of bonds in womanhood. The transformation is almost a backwards one: to spend more time with my girlish self, and less time worrying about how it makes me look.
In the end, I faced death and laughed it away with a bunch of dumb dumbs. I didn’t even bother to fix my makeup when I went back to the group.
As part of this piece, I asked the women to share their thoughts on our trip and the benefits of play. Here are some of my favourite replies:
Being around other adults who are fully engaged in playing, grants others the permission to let loose without holding back and without fear of judgment. That’s what prevents adults from playing fully unencumbered— fear of being judged by others— thank you middle school/high school trauma for that. But we all want to play! That first person to take that step and let go is always such a hero. You can feel the group collectively release and gear up once that first wall is broken. I love those people.
Very seldom do we allow ourselves to ugly laugh like that. Sometimes I caught myself caring about appearance, but there were other moments when we were so deep in laughter that it never crossed my mind. I see the photos now and start to critique. At that moment, I didn’t give a fuck that my stomach was out, and it reminds me that when we were kids we didn’t care. This week brought me back to that feeling of freedom
As adults, we look at places like Miami and Vegas as playgrounds, but that’s not my core kind of play. Being in those spaces is playing a character of a glamorous lifestyle, and there's this pressure to be “on” and have a big night. It doesn’t fuel your soul in the same way.
When we think of “play” - our minds typically go towards childish nonsense that is “supposed” to stop when we grow up. I’ve always believed that “acting young keeps you young”. My grandfather is 95 and still works at a golf club, and I truly believe playing the game he loves multiple times a week is what keeps him alive…Being around like-minded individuals that allow you to be authentic and silly and free while playing brings a different kind of happiness to my heart that I feel lucky to be a part of. I want to continue to play and grow young, like my grandfather, and live a full and happier life every single day.
It was really nourishing for my inner child because I was bullied and didn’t have that experience as a kid.
I think adult play is very misunderstood because a lot of the time people associate adult play with something sexual.…Play is actually about discovery, making mistakes, being silly, and being embarrassed. At the retreat, we felt safe and it opened a lot of windows for play and being stupid.
And one final thought from the birthday girl herself:
This week was about celebrating my girlhood with the women and girls that I’m becoming a woman with. As I’m stepping into my 30s: there’s this impression that you have to be serious… These are the people who I talk through everything with, so it was really nice to play with my best friends knowing they’re the ones I have hard conversations with too.
And, just for fun, here’s my favourite video from the week: A bunch of grown women - many with huge corporate jobs - pretending to be synchronized swimmers.
