Why you should invite play into your life and business.
The fog slowly crept in under the door frame, bringing with it a whisper I could only hear as,
“Come play.”
It was a voice I wanted to trust, although it sounded nothing like my own.
My mouth and tongue had not strung together the vowels and consonants to spit out the word “play” in what felt like decades. My muscles ached with the unfamiliarity of the word. My bones broken in places I had not noticed from the neglect of the word. My skin, crawling, in hopes of feeling the movement of the word again.
And so, I ran after it.
The forest instantly reminded me that every day it is blessed with birth and cursed with death and that play lies in the in-between.
“Lies,” I spoke back. “I have heard that before, and often.” My muscles tightened in familiarity. My brittle bones ground on those letters. My skin itched under that truth.
I looked back towards the door I had just crawled out of, open, inviting… inviting me back in.
“No!” the forest spoke. The fog inching up and out of the wet leaves like steam on a hot day, but instead the weather was chill and sharp, and the fog my unsuspecting visitor. “Is this the story you tell yourself?”
The dew was hopelessly clinging onto every branch and needle surrounding me, some losing their grip and landing on my face. I looked around to find the forest still, the ground fertile, the fog swirling.
“Why do you invite me to come play?” I asked. “What is it that you ask of me in return?”
The fog led me to a beautifully decaying birch tree covered in plump mushrooms, practically a ladder to the heavens.
“Never should there be a price for play. But you seem to be paying it none the less. In your bones, yes, in your muscles, yes, on your skin, yes, and I dare bet in your heart, in your mind, deep in your soul- you pay the price for avoiding it.”
“Lies!!” I scream to the trees. The echos bounce off the tiny mushrooms, ricochet off of me, and eventually get swallowed by the fog.
“Lies you speak to yourself. Yes. I can’t force you to stay. We can’t force you to play. But know you are always invited.”
Curiosity seemed to soften my muscles, longing filled my bones, desperation oozing from my skin down onto the forest floor, mixing with the fog, conversing with death, shaking hands with birth, until my finger gracefully lifted and made contact with something outside of myself for the first time in years, something placed ever so playfully in front of me as if to say- it’s safe, invite us in.
Still to this day I will never know if it was the fog talking or me. Was it my yearning muscles that moved me to the forest that day, my daring bones that held their ground, my aging skin that when in contact with those petite mushrooms sent electric impulses to my mind, to my heart, through out my body, dare I say through out my soul?
All I know for sure is I left the forest that day changed, with a new story that I will tell myself, and my children, and their children, and theirs, until my mouth is unable to form the words, until I give myself whole heartedly to the fog.
For years it felt impossible and impractical to use my Art as MORE than just a creative outlet but I know now the more and more I try to design my life away from it the more and more I’m desperate to get back to it. I have to listen to my inner voice and my body- and it’s telling me to CREATE.
What is your inner voice and body telling you? Share in the comments- put it out into the world and watch it come back to you!
