Too Long in the Play Box? Or Not Long Enough?
- Solomon Berezin
- 1 day ago
- 2 min read
“Perhaps I kept you in the play box too long,” my father once said. I don’t remember what exactly prompted the comment. Maybe how most of my adolescent and young adult days was playing basketball instead of getting a job. Maybe something I said or did that seemed childish or idealistic. I’ve thought about it more than once, especially since exploring this idea of play (see previous few blogs on this topic below). I’m wondering if he meant I delayed growing up, that maybe I didn’t face “real life” soon enough.
But lately, I’m starting to see it differently.
What if the lesson wasn’t that I stayed in the play box too long... but that I ever left it?
As kids, our sense of joy isn’t tied to accomplishments. We don’t need to do anything to feel fulfilled. We’re allowed to simply be. To play. To enjoy the moment without worrying if it’s productive, strategic, or socially acceptable.
In The Three Conditions, author and former podcast guest of mine, Moshe Gersht writes:
“When we were children, both parts of our inner world [soul and body, mind and heart] were still somewhat married to each other. We were able to feel happy and fulfilled despite our performance and achievement or lack thereof. In fact, we experienced a much greater sense of joy because we didn’t have anything we, in fact, actually had to do. We could simply be. Just enjoy. Just have fun in the moment, with the moment.”
Growing up, I now see, is less about leaving the play box and more about returning to it. It’s about reclaiming that spirit of curiosity, presence, and wonder that never should’ve been boxed away in the first place.
Sure, there are responsibilities, but none of that means we have to abandon play. In fact, the more I bring playfulness into my days, my relationships, my decisions, even my spiritual life, the more alive and aligned I am. We even say a line from Tehillim, Psalms, during prayer each day, “Ivdu et Hashem b’simcha,” - “serve G‑d with Joy.”
Maybe my father’s comment wasn’t just a reflection on how long I stayed in the play box,
but an unintentional invitation:
Remember where you came from. Remember how to play.
Keep shooting. Just play.
And so, I’m learning (again and again) to live from that space.
Not instead of responsibility, but infused within it.
A kind of sacred play - a return to joy, to presence, to wholeness.
A return to the play box.
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