Play isn’t just for children; it’s a survival skill for creativity, resilience and innovation.
We often imagine the lives of our palaeolithic ancestors as an unrelenting struggle, but the very existence of cave art suggests that at least some of them could focus on making meaning beyond necessity. So what drove them? Was it sacred ritual, primitive science or early performance art? It might have been something more fundamental: the simple human urge to play.
Play is easily dismissed as frivolous. It’s seen as childhood’s domain or as neatly parcelled weekend leisure. But evolution says otherwise. Play is older than civilisation itself. Far from being a cultural garnish, it is our evolutionary inheritance.
Psychologists value play because through it, we learn not just to survive but to be. Today, however, play is treated like dessert, viewed as a reward after “real” work. But perhaps it’s the opposite. Perhaps play is the real work and the true birthplace of creativity, empathy and innovation.
Our health on the line
Civilisation has given us antibiotics, electric light and smartphones, but also relentless schedules, not to mention the low-grade panic of unread notifications. In chasing productivity, we may have squeezed out the very thing that gave life its colour: play.
The absence of play is not just a loss; it may be a health risk. Burnout, chronic stress and lifestyle illnesses often trace back to a lack of play. Research bears this out. A study of 439 employees found that playful elements in work significantly reduced exhaustion and cynicism, while boosting innovation. Another study of 898 students linked frequent playful social activity with lower perceived stress.
With nearly 79 percent of workers citing chronic workplace stress as a major issue, play looks less like a diversion and more like a buffer against burnout.
How children play
Recently I was watching my grandchildren play in the attic. They began with stick-figure dinosaurs, then transformed a cardboard box into a cave, then a spaceship and finally, a stage for a sock-puppet opera. They were euphoric. I was envious – not of their toys but of their effortless leap into fantasy.
What happens to that gift when we grow up? Somewhere between tax season and adulthood, we lose our passport to imagination. I asked myself: Could I actually join in? Could I play without turning it into a lesson? Too often I’ve caught myself declaring blanket forts “tripping hazards”. Adults barge into make-believe worlds with logic and safety warnings, forgetting that spontaneity was once our native tongue.
Perhaps we haven’t outgrown play, but merely buried it under calendars and norms. It still peeks out when we doodle, hum in the shower or improvise in the kitchen. Sometimes it slips into daily life more visibly – playing a quick mobile game at work, cracking a joke in a serious setting or belting out karaoke in the car. Instead of admitting, “I’m doing this for no reason at all”, we tend to explain it away: “I’m recharging because today was tough” or “I need energy for tomorrow”.
The four Ms of play
So what is play, really? Not just chaos in disguise. Play is freely chosen, but never lawless. Even wild roughhousing has rules. Break them – as when a child yells, “You can’t do that!” – and the game collapses.
To navigate this world, I use a simple compass: the four Ms of play.
Me-time. True me-time is not numbing out but tuning in. It’s doing something simply because you want to, free of agendas or judgment. Play begins here, in this unguarded space. For children it might be scribbling until the page is black. For adults, it might be casual art sessions, gardening with no plan or wandering a city just to see where the streets lead.
Make-believe. The engine room of imagination. Shakespeare said all the world’s a stage; toddlers prove it daily. Sofas become fortresses, spoons become swords. This double consciousness – knowing that something isn’t real while treating it as if it is – is play at its finest. Adults tap it when they role-play in workshops, improvise in theatre games or daydream solutions to problems.
Mastery. The itch to improve at something no one told you to do. Children building sandcastles know that the joy lies in the process, not the product. Failure and iteration become thrilling, not shaming. Adults experience the joy of mastery when they learn a new instrument, tinker with recipes or practice a sport for sheer satisfaction.
Meaning. The M that binds the rest. Play helps us make sense of chaos, try on identities and test moral codes. Best of all, we rehearse life’s dramas. For adults, it may be through storytelling, role-play or even satire. Play lets us process many emotions in ways straight talk rarely allows. It also helps us understand what creates real meaning in our lives.
Play is where we first meet ourselves as well as each other. It cultivates empathy and resilience. Yet somewhere along the road to adulthood, we put it down. We told ourselves play was childish, then swapped joy for efficiency while calling it responsibility.
Without play, what remains? Routine? A joyless march toward metrics? The opposite of play isn’t work. It’s burnout and even despair. It’s resignation or quietly surrendering joy. If play is so central to well-being, perhaps the most adult thing to do is to re-enter the sandbox.
Sandbox therapy for executives
In my work with executives, I help create this transitional space. It isn’t easy. These are people who negotiate multi-million-dollar deals without flinching, yet freeze when asked to sketch their self-portrait. Some squirm, some sweat, some even cry. Others try to “achieve” introspection like a quarterly target. But eventually the armour cracks.
By the third week, a former defence contractor might turn to a venture capitalist and ask, “Do you see now why you behave the way you do? How your past experiences shape the way you run your company? How your childhood informs the way you lead?” That’s the moment when I know they’ve stepped fully into the sandbox. Through play, they’ve begun to connect for real less armour, more curiosity. They’re no longer locked in competition but exploring, becoming more insightful about themselves and each other.
When leaders rediscover play, the effects ripple outward. Teams experiment more freely. Meetings loosen. Innovation rises. Leaders listen with curiosity instead of calculation. The sandbox becomes not just a coaching tool but a cultural shift. Silliness can be the seedbed of creativity.
Play, even wrapped in absurdity, is not escapism. It is survival. And rediscovering it might just make us whole again.
