As I was waiting for my train to be delayed, and freeze to death right before its arrival, I spotted a frustrated father and his little son on the other side of the platform. The father desperately tried to make his son, who’s got a long way to go before puberty complicates his life even more, stop kicking a plastic bottle against the wall only for it to bounce back again. Every time the bottle hit the brick wall in front of him, like a goalkeeper he threw himself towards the direction he predicted it would travel to, showing off every moment of success by triumphantly thrusting his hands in the air. After the little boy had pushed his boundaries for some time, provoking his father with each and every kick, he received a reaction he probably hadn't seen coming: his father kicked the bottle what felt like miles away out of his reach, only to catapult it straight into the nearest bin (or in the boy’s words: GOAL!).
Now what did you see? Was this the perfect scenario resembling the constant struggle of parents trying to tame their kids and stop them acting on their impulses? Perhaps you pictured an overworked, single father, who was fed up with his son misbehaving in public and disturbing everyone else, making the whole experience even more embarrassing? More optimistically, did you silently cheer for the father as he managed to score his bin goal, successfully leaving his son in disbelief expressed through silence and an open mouth that nearly reached the ground? Or did you see a father who's clearly not in control of his own son, a father who then decided to react equally as childishly towards his misbehaviour instead of being the adult in the situation?
Any of these interpretations might have been right, but what I saw was not really a father and son, nor did I see an adult and a child at all. What I saw was two boys kicking an empty bottle for fun, the only difference being that one of them has been a child for a significant time longer than the other one. Even Simone de Beauvoir once said that an adult is really just a “child blown up by age", but this one single difference was enough to force the father to follow the script adulthood wrote for him instead of following the direction of the bottle. The younger boy was clearly completely oblivious to the fabricated rules and restrictions he’d have to follow later on in life, simply choosing to see the opportunity of playing a game to occupy his mind to pass some time. It’s not like the older boy didn’t see this opportunity himself, as our creative and playful urges don’t just stop entirely as we get older. It just seemed as if he felt like he was expected to act differently and be more serious, sacrificing his opportunity to play in order to meet the social codes that restricted him in that moment.
As soon as we are forced to grow up, we tend to lose ourselves in the seriousness of life, instead of reminding ourselves of who we are through innocent play. Impulsiveness is seen as a sign of not being in control, rather than a message coming deeply from the centre of our self. The only game we’re allowed and even encouraged to participate in, is the role play on the stage of life. At work, suits and uniforms disguise our real character, forcing us to play by rules established by others who don’t participate at the same level in the same game, leaving us with no creative freedom or encouragement to change the way we’re playing in our favour. In moments shared with others who participate in the same play as us, we stay in our role and adapt to whatever we believe is protocol. No one dares to step outside and improvise, even if that would set us free and allow us to finally be authentic and our true selves.
The times where we had the freedom and justification to be impulsive and ask ourselves what would make us happy in this very moment don’t need to be over. Play is one of the few exceptions for which we don't need any productive outcome in order to justify its pleasure. The source of innocent play, whether that is the physical act of play or just a general mindset in life, comes from deep within and is exactly what helps us communicate with our inner self and desires, therefore fulfilling our demands for happiness. Additionally, isn’t it play, that makes us try again and spite all failures and discomfort we face in life? When did life turn into a nine to five job where all that matters is what we produce and create, where time is only spent well if it results in either financial or personal gain? Perhaps this might be the reason why as soon as passions turn into professions, they feel too much like just another responsibility and weight on our shoulders. Something we used to enjoy doing voluntarily suddenly feels like just another task that needs to be ticked off our never-ending to-do lists. It’s too easy to fall out of love with passions when they are something we feel like we need to do, instead of something we need to enjoy.
I believe that too much of our everyday suffering and discomfort stems from our seriousness in life, as well as a strict attitude towards ourselves. We’re convinced that losing is a sign of our own inadequacy, and that winning is exclusive to the ones who gained success as a result of self-discipline and the ability to suppress all inner desires that would've otherwise distracted them from reaching their goal. They surely must’ve just played the game well, right? However, if we compare life to a game of Monopoly, we quickly realise that there’s a lot of luck involved in winning, whereas the losers of the game might just not have been as fortunate this time. Games are more forgiving than we let life be, as they give more second chances than we give ourselves before losing all hope and declaring defeat. Lost a game? Don’t worry, you might win the next round. Didn’t get the results at work that you hoped for? You must be a complete failure and will never reach the goal you’ve set yourself.
In contrast to life and all its codes and rules, games don’t need to be restrictive: Remember how much easier and more fun a game of UNO became when you decided to make up your own rules? Not that I’d ever encourage cheating, but much rather, as Camus and other absurdists would call it, rebellion against the absurdity of life. Being able to rebel against rules and what we see as unjust restrictions in life might indicate that we can alter the way we approach obstacles in a way that it meets our personal needs as well as abilities. We shouldn’t take all of it too seriously, when we know that the endless list of possibilities in which we can fail co-exists happily with all the other possibilities in which we can succeed. If we’d see life as a playground, we’d dare to move our feet back and forth when using the swing, despite there being a good chance we’ll fall off and hurt ourselves. We would see the fun in daily approaches and tasks and the thrill that comes with the chance of either winning or losing, without worrying too much that it will determine everything else in life. Because even if you still don’t win this round, you can move on happily, knowing that there probably will be more opportunities for victory to come. Perhaps if we approach life as a game, we will finally be OK with losing from time to time.
