From What If? to What’s Next?

Play is the art of risking without fear of being wrong.

The Courage to Play

I was sweating in the windowless room, sitting in a circle with fifteen other adults. My sleeves were rolled up; I was ready to do this. But inside, I felt sick — terrified, really, about what I’d signed up for. I kept reminding myself that this was fully voluntary. I didn’t have to do it.

This was play.

Or at least that’s what I thought I’d signed up for: to play. In fact, it was an improv class. And after earning a third-degree black belt, a master’s degree, and my coaching certification, this seemed like the most daunting challenge yet.

There was no script, no plan, no way to “get it right.” As a trained journalist, this was deeply uncomfortable. Writing fiction had felt similar at first — the same dizzying requirement to make things up, to step into the unknown and play there, in the realm of what if?

But here’s the thing: it turned out to be fun. Not the kind of fun that made me want to pursue improv long-term, but the kind that stretched me. After just two classes, I could feel my capacity expand — to speak, to move, to respond publicly and spontaneously with others.

Life, after all, is not fixed. Outcomes are never guaranteed. The best we can do is dance in the moment, and have fun with all the surprises that inevitably come our way.

The Shape of Play

The word play has a long linguistic story, one perhaps as fluid as play itself — spanning meanings from frivolity to physical tests. Linguistically, play has always implied motion, openness, interaction, and engagement without fixity. Its roots resist the static — the word itself moves. It holds the duality we still feel today: to play as joy and art, but also to play as risk, as performance, as a test of limits.

Play is an experience — a three-dimensional experience of mind, body, and spirit — rather than a neck-up exercise in left-brain learning.

Studies show that children can learn up to forty times faster when they play, as play releases dopamine, essential for memory and critical thinking. Because of this, play requires far fewer repetitions (10–20) to form new brain pathways compared to direct instruction (up to 400 repetitions). The benefits of play include faster development of language, math, and social skills, and it enhances cognitive functions such as problem-solving, working memory, and motivation.

The Vulnerability of Play

For me, as an adult, play is vulnerable. It implies that I will try things and respond to others in a similar state of play, without specific outcomes in mind. This experience gives rise to laughter — sometimes embarrassment, sometimes delight. It involves trust, for this is the only way to test one’s edges. And because of this, there is always growth.

What does it mean to play? More importantly, how do we know we are at play? To interact, experiment, move, think, not think — to improvise without an end in mind. At what age does play become competitive? Play to win? When is play parallel? When is it collaborative? What does it mean to play as an adult?

Play is to be in flow — to strategize in the moment, but not at the exclusion of the whole, of the larger picture you’re trying to create. There is an element of fun, of being silly, vulnerable, and testing the limits of one’s comfort and body. But everyone is different in this way. Watch a group of children: no two of them play alike.

Play and the Imposter

During a recent leadership forum, I created and led two workshops — both on imposter syndrome, which is somewhat ironic when it comes to play. When imposter syndrome takes over, it kills play. It makes us stiff masks of the very thing we’re trying to express and explore.

I asked participants to go deeper, to exaggerate the energy of the imposter — to consciously embody it. How does the “over-doer” move? How does the “perfectionist” speak? What’s the posture of “The Lone Wolf”? I had them stand in groups according to their imposter type, playing the part that sneaks in and commandeers their leadership. I wanted them to become fully aware of what this part of themselves feels like in their bodies — and to confront the imposter in others.

As they walked around the room, fully inhabiting their imposters, the space filled with laughter — a sure sign of play. It was the most direct way to experience the impact of imposter syndrome: both on themselves and on those they lead.

Then, I had them identify and inhabit their recovery from imposter syndrome. They wrote about it, talked about it — and, most importantly, embodied it. They were playing. This spirit of experiment helps us hold lightly to some of these saboteurs that can hold so tightly to us. It’s a way to disempower these internal gremlin voices by turning them into characters that make up our psyches.

This approach sits at the heart of Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy and Gestalt therapy, as well as frameworks like Voice Dialogue and Positive Intelligence, which invite us to engage with — rather than suppress — the parts of ourselves that seek control, perfection, or approval.

The Body Knows

This is the quickest way to change. We need awareness and intellectual understanding, but it’s through the body that we change our minds. Play is an embodied experience.

What I love most about creating workshops is that they combine my skills as a writer with my passion for crafting experiences. Each workshop tells a story — a beginning, a middle, and an end.

And my favorite endings, the most powerful ones, leave a door slightly ajar, inviting the question:
What’s next? What’s possible now?

Ready to explore your own edges through play?
Join one of my upcoming workshops — where curiosity, movement, and laughter become pathways to deeper awareness and growth.
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