Shardayyy / Creative Commons

Busy. That’s the short-and-sweet one-word consensus offered up by every parent and professional I know. Every time I ask the usual question “How’ve you been lately?” they all tell me they are just so busy that even the word itself sounds weighted down with an overwhelmed sigh. Juggling long days at work with long nights at home, squeezing in sports, socials, and extracurriculars, rushing through to-do lists in between drive-through dinners and stoplight social media scrolls all makes me wonder if maybe the reason we keep strolling through day after day is because we still haven’t found what we’re looking for. 

We put our kids in the best playgroup so they get into the best preschool so they get into the best high school so they get into the best college so they get into the best job so they get into the best career so they get into the best life. And we only do that with our kids because we ourselves are in the hot pursuit of the next thing, even if we don’t know what the next thing is.

It was German philosopher and physicist Moritz Schlick who said, “Whenever we do something only for the sake of something else, we are working – even if we receive no financial reward.” And while work is a necessary part of life, it is utilitarian to think a thing only has value because it can get us something else. 

As a person who’s guilty of filling my own cup to the brink of overflowing, I’ve been pondering this idea lately. At the Children’s Museum of Eau Claire, we talk a lot about the power of play. We know that play is serious business because play is serious learning – it forms new neural connections, strengthens social skills, fine-tunes focus, and prepares the brain for advanced academics. But I’ve also found that we tend to default to these research-backed benefits, hoping parents will be persuaded all while forgetting that by its own definition, true play only happens when there is no ulterior motive.

Our kids already know this. Kids don’t play to form new neural connections, strengthen social skills, or fine-tune focus. Kids play because they want to. They play because it’s fun. Because their eyes light up and their cheeks grow flushed and they barely have time to scarf down a sandwich and wipe the sweaty strands of hair out of their faces before they get back to their great big wonderful world. Kids play for the love of it.

And maybe we could stand to learn something from our kids. A few weeks ago, I myself decided to do something purely for the love of it. Armed with a brand-new pair of tap shoes, butterflies in my tummy, and a big ol’ smile on my face, I showed up for my first Tuesday morning tap class at a local dance studio.

I had tapped for years as a kid and made my way through a college musical or two, but somewhere along the way I forgot how much I loved to tap. It didn’t take more than the first few shuffle-ball-changes for me to remember. And half an hour later my eyes were sparkling and my cheeks were flushed and I barely had time to sip down a Starbucks and throw on my heels before I got back to the office where I couldn’t stop practicing these new steps underneath my desk.

What do you do just for the love of it? Maybe it’s a round of golf or a game of basketball. Perhaps it is an afternoon of gardening in the yard or an evening of rehearsal at the Grand Theatre. It might be cozying into a chair at a coffee shop to write a few chapters or taking over the kitchen to whip up a delicious new recipe. No matter what it is – from one busy person to another – make sure there is at least one thing you do simply for its own sake.

There is that somewhat trite saying, “Be a human being, not a human doing.” But of course, trite things are often true things. When we focus solely on an outcome – be it quantitative or qualitative – we forget that play, not work, gives life meaning. And while I’ll likely never make it to Broadway, I can say with a big ol’ smile, a smartphone on silent, and a pair of tap shoes that are already beginning to wear in that I just might have found what I was looking for all along.