Everyone in the building where the Playground lives wants to know what the Playground is.
They see us wandering the halls in our stocking feet (or stripy-socked-feet or bare feet or sparkly legwarmer feet), wearing ridiculous hats and sometimes wings.
They hear us laughing.
They are, understandably, not that clear on what we are doing, or why there is a pirate duck on the door or who we are. Or why we are having so much fun.
It makes sense that people are curious.
There’s a lot of wackopants stuff going on, though they don’t see any of that.
It’s just … the stuff we do is not really the kind of thing you can explain. It’s play. It’s very wax on wax off.
Describing it in words doesn’t transmit the essence. Or the magic. Or the experience.
The more I try to explain what it is, the more the essential nature of the Playground is obfuscated.
But people like having explanations. And I like buffers and spaciousness and canopies of peace.
So I hide, of course.
But then Maria told me about being five years old.
Maria is so wise. And so is her five year old, apparently.
Here’s how it works.
You pretend you’re five years old. You are a kid doing kid-stuff, busy at play.
You’re having such a good time playing that there’s really nothing to be explained. So obvious questions get answered with obvious answers.
Like this.
Person: What exactly do you do here?
Five year old me: Playground! I have a playground!
Person: What’s a playground? What is it?
Five year old me: Where you play!
Person: What kinds of things do you play?
Five year old me: Pirates!
Person: Pirates?
Five year old me: And monster tag. Sometimes.
Person: What’s the point, though?
Five year old me: Getting to play!
Person: Who plays there?
Five year old me: People! People who like to play!
Person: And what do you do there?
Five year old me: I’m the queen! I drink juice!
And then!
And then you put on your grown-up costume, and ask them about their business, and you start talking about the building and the heating and the weather and how much good food there is in the neighborhood and it’s awesome.
Grilled cheese for everyone!
Unless you don’t eat cheese, in which case that’s still okay because we’re in Portland, so… vegan gluten-free grilled cheese for whoever wants it.
One day I will have an open house.
Or an open Playground.
And I will invite my neighbors in the building to come and drink juice out of our zombie apocalypse juice glasses.
To build blanket forts or sit on pirate monkey meditation cushions.
To be old Turkish ladies, if they like. To wear clip-on tails from the Costumery (costumes!) and to carry wine glasses full of pretzel sticks.
To plug their phones into the Creative Outlets.
To rise up in unison against injustice! Et cetera.
But in the meantime, I am five years old and I am hiding and I have the best blanket fort ever.
And … comment zen for today.
There isn’t a right way of doing things. There is the way that is right for you. Or really: the way that is right for you in this moment. Better for you is not better in general.
Since this is our safe space to play, everyone here commits to making room for people to have their own experience and their own way. It’s a practice. It’s playing at the practice of practicing playing.
Grilled cheese for everyone!
Follow
my family: Why are you in such a good mood?
Me: Because I get to RALLY!
my family: But that isn’t for another month and a half
Me: I know but when you laugh and play real hard it comes faster!
my family: and did you say you are deducting this trip for WORK?
Me: Uh-huh- (skips across the room)
My family: And did you tell us what a Rally is?
Me: I don’t know
My family: YOU DON’T KNOW?
Me: Un-unh and its okay because I know it is fun and lots of wild crazy good things happen and get done
My family: Doesn’t that seem a little irresponsible to go to something you don’t really know much about
Me: I know- isn’t it great!
Creative outlets! Being five years old. (I taught preschool. I can do this, be this magic. but I may not want to change back.)
One year when I was on retreat, the Mayors office accepted an invitation to come visit. We’re talking *very* traditional Tibetan Buddhist center, lots of monks, ritual implements, etc. etc.
I must say the Mayor and company looked a bit dazed at first. But they were very gracious and warmed up by the end.
PS: “Needed NVC translation for “Do I make myself ****ing clear?” Priceless. All by itself.
“What do you play?”
“Pirates!”
YES.
Creative outlets and vegan gluten-free grilled cheese FTW.
Juice! Pirates! My five year old self is very happily zooming around the room right now and ignoring everything else that isn’t fun.
Yay! My five-year-old is so happy hearing your five-year-old explain what she does. Play! Of course.
xoxo Hiro
@Pearl – I cannot WAIT to see you at the Rally! Awesome. And really, it *is* so hard to explain how playing with your business is such an unlikely and effective way to make stuff happen … skipping around with you!
@Jesse – and zooming! I will zoom too!
@Hiro – play play play play play play. Finally an answer to “what do you do?”!
@Shannon – PIRATES! And hi to El Pisces.
@Mahala – I don’t want to change back either! And what a charming story. I am picturing the whole thing and I love it.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!
I just have to say that I’m doing (metaphorical) backflips about the Creative Outlets!
🙂
Andy
This?
Fantastic.
The end.
Blanket forts? Playing pirates?!? Juice from zombie apocalypse cups and grilled-cheese sandwiches!?!?
Count me in!
PS: Can I get the crust cut off my sammich?
Yay for being five!
This post is fan-fucking-tastic. I howled with loving laughter!
This nearby group of people in Starbucks started looking at me funny, and I pointed at my computer screen and said, “My friend is a Pirate Queen with a fabulous sense of humor.” And they looked at me even funnier and I enjoyed the hell out of it. (;
Yes. Being 5 is still a valid age to be, no matter how many times you’ve been around the sun. Well put. <3
“I am the queen! I drink juice!”
Priceless.
I am the master at pretending to be five. It’s one of the few things I’m good at.
Being five-years-old is the only way some things get explained in my house, like, you know, anything complicated. My mind seems to inherently reject jargon in favor of what-does-it-do.
Person: Blah blah blah. Science. Blah blah blah. Techie-geekness.
Me: *blank look*
*raises hand* (Very important. You should always be polite. *nod nod*)
Umm, excuse me? Hi. Yeah… could you explain this to me like I’m five?
Person: Huh?
Me: Five. Five-years-old.
Person: Uhh… *blank look* Well, see, jargon jargon blah blah.
Me: *holds up a hand in “stop”* No. Five. F.I.V.E.
Person: This goes here *points* and makes this *points* turn on.
Me: YAY! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!
Funnier still, my male-person started thinking this way. And every now and then, when we fight, one of us will have to break and say, “Okay, I can’t explain this right. I’m gonna be five.” And it’s TOTALLY OKAY. ^^
This made me happy. Thank you.
Havi, you’ve seen the video of the little French girl making up a fairy tale, right?
(Anyone who hasn’t seen it must Google “little French girl fairy tale” 🙂
I can’t get enough of her and her crocodile and her magical kingdom. Her suchness is exactly that bubbling up, effervescent childish play that you’re describing.
Being five! Yes! I must do that more.
I think having an open Playground for your neighbours is a genius idea. If you want to have some of us who are familiar with the Playground’s culture to be there when you do it so that we could help them get started playing, let us know – it would be a pleasure to do it. Oh! and I’d love to play the anthropologist who studies the reactions of the neighbours, and their interactions with the Playground people! Yes, yes, yes!!! That would be awesome!
I wish there were a playground in my building that would invite me to an open house. The closest thing is the acupuncturist next door who lets me in and shuts off the lights and pokes me with needles and shares moxa through the ventilation system.
Okay, so I was just thinking this morning about how when I was in Junior High I used to cry at night because I couldn’t play anymore, and how lucky I am that I figured out, as an adult, how to start playing again.
So yeah. REALLY REALLY want to come visit the Playground someday…
Add in a line where the 5-year-old says, “Here’s a picture I drew for you!” and you’ve pretty much got my own 5-year-old nailed. Because it would never occur to a 5-year-old that a stranger wouldn’t want a piece of art you created.
5-year-olds really are awesome on so many levels.
It sounds like your playground is pretty awesome, too. We need more play in life, I say.
i so love this post.
um, i work with kids (see, i said WORK) and i sometimes forget they are 8. i try to make them more grown up and serious.
that’s it. tomorrow we’ll play!
Grilled cheese for EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You and your Playground and your five year old and your “Brrraain” (as the Girl would say) are amazing, beautiful, funny….and FUN!!!
PLAY!!!!
XOXOX!
…..your five year old you, I mean. The one who wears the stunning grown up costume. (Just wanted to be clear we’re not talking about Bolivians here.)
MUAH! + Peals of laughter
Pretzel sticks do taste much better when they come out of wine glasses. Love the idea of the open playground. My Portland hosts are so curious to see where I got to frolic all day to have such a good mood at night…
Yay!! Yay for playgrounds!
I am very fond of my inner five-year-old. I think I’ll knock on her door today, and ask her if she can come out to play.
Play is where I am happiest. OBVIOUSLY. Yay to people who see the value in play – it has magical healing qualties. Borne to play. Yeee haaaa!
That sounds like the conversations I’ve been having since October:
friends: Where are you working now?
me: I’m a Goblin Trainer
friends: That’s not a real job
me: Exactly, its fun
friends: so you plan on having fun all day?
me: Yes. And training goblins, but only after I help design fairytale kingdoms.
friends: um….
me:do you want a fairytale kingdom?
I found your blog two years ago through ANOC, and have quietly read it every month. By being you, you have given me permission to be me. That is priceless. Thank you.