Vol 2: Notes on growing up, healing, and remembering joy.

This blog is a place for me to process and share the journey — partly for myself, and partly to guide me toward a business of connection through play.

I’ve always liked to play.
As a child, you couldn’t get me inside. As a teen, I was on sports teams, always ready for a costume, a theme, or a dare. For a while, I was even a clown with dreams of joining the circus. Later I worked at Disney, and then as an outdoor education and high ropes specialist. In my early twenties, I started a job training program for teen mothers that focused on work readiness by running a small crafts business.

Looking back, I can see how so many pieces of my life have woven together — each pointing toward this idea of finding ways to package play, connection, silliness, and joy for others to share.

When Play Changes Shape

At different times in life, play has felt easier to access.
In my teens and twenties, adventure and goofiness were right at my fingertips. When my kids were little, creating worlds for them to explore felt like the work I was made for — cardboard castles, treasure hunts, stories in motion.

Children learn through play, but I don’t think that ever really stops. We just narrow it as we get older. The world rewards seriousness, productivity, and appearances. Play, meanwhile, becomes something reserved for kids, athletes, or parties with a few too many drinks.

Sports are the socially acceptable form of adult play — games with rules and structure that make participation feel safe. But underneath, it’s the same impulse: to move, to connect, to belong.

Then there are the pockets of people who still know how to play freely — cosplayers, D&D players, crafters, karaoke stars. Even silly office games or holiday traditions let our inner child slip through for a moment.

The Case for Playfulness

Life as an adult is mostly a juggling act — serving others, paying bills, cooking meals, managing work, trying not to sink under the weight of the news. It’s easy to forget joy when everything feels heavy.

But what if we let ourselves build Lego towers again, or had friends over to craft, to dress up, to be absurd together?
What if play didn’t need an excuse or alcohol or children to justify it?

“Deep within everyone is a child who wants to play.”

I believe that laughter and silliness can soften even the hardest edges of life.
Not to escape it — but to breathe through it.
To remind ourselves that even in grief or exhaustion, there’s still room for delight.

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Making It Part of Healing

When I look at my own story — cancer, divorce, rebuilding — I can see how each playful act has been a quiet rebellion against despair. Putting on a ridiculous costume, making something with my hands, or laughing at myself in the process has always brought me back to life a little.

Play doesn’t erase pain, but it creates space around it.
And sometimes, that’s enough to let light in.