Working at Play
Reviewed by Blythe Woolston
CONSUMER HEALTH INTERACTIVEBeyond Love and Work: Why Adults Need to Play
By Lenore Terr, M.D.
Touchstone Books
Paperback 286 pp $13 Deep Play
By Diane Ackerman
Vintage Books
Paperback 235 pp 1999 $13 
Thirty-five years ago, when I was a child, I would dream I was either a bird or a dragon, flying mile after mile through the rushing dark, navigating by snow light. True, I was only inches above an icy logging road, not above the clouds -- and I had a runner sled, not wings, but the freedom and unrelenting pull of nature were the same. My 8-year-old body was thrilled with its own power, a slight shift of weight could carve a wide turn between the snow banks, sometimes sparks would strike when the runner blades skimmed a naked flake of shale. It was easy and instinctive. It felt wonderful, and it was play. At 8 years -- or at 8 months -- we are geniuses at play. But that early aptitude soon turns into dull disapproval, and by the time most of us are adults, we've surrendered to the notion that play is frivolous or inappropriate. The question is, what have we lost in the meantime? A lot, according to two recent books. In Beyond Love and Work, psychiatrist Lenore Terr argues that play is essential to mental health. In Deep Play, poet Diane Ackerman maintains that play is at the heart of our spiritual selves. Recovering from abuse
Terr's conclusions are based on her work with children recovering from the horrors of kidnap and abuse. By watching the kids playact the terrifying events, Terr became convinced that play was at the heart of their progress. It helped release intense emotions. It encouraged problem solving. And it helped prepare them to cope in the world. The same was true among the adults she observed. Whether they were fiddling with toy planes or sharing imaginary adventures, play served as something akin to a "great nonmedical tranquilizer" that offered them a privileged door to better self-understanding. "We embellish our play with meanings unique to ourselves," she says. "And these meanings continue to develop as our lives become more complex." But play is as important socially as it is personally, Terr says. Take, for example, men and women's often-deplored inability to communicate and understand one another. How can we expect to understand and enjoy the companionship of others when we don't know how they play, where they find pleasure, or why? "For the sake of our relationships as adults, we must relearn how to play easily and well with the opposite sex," she says. That doesn't mean taking Barbie or G.I. Joe along on our next night out. Adult play, while rooted in childhood practice, has its own characteristics. "Much of a mature person's skill at play has to do with the person's success at subtlety," she says. It's what allows adult players to be "masters of fantasy and pretend" without the props of childhood. That's why the workplace may be an important site of play for adults. "People who make a personal game of what they do seem more successful at what they do. And they appear happier. Then too, they demonstrate heightened and pleasurable concentration -- a mental state long associated with play. At such moments we are at our best." Capturing the present
Such moments are the stuff of Diane Ackerman's Deep Play. At these times, we "lay aside our sense of self, shed time's continuum, ignore pain, and sit quietly in the absolute present, watching the world's ordinary miracles." Ackerman delights in penguins, lobster lips, word play, and the "house magic" of spring cleaning. She gallops from the origin of unicorns to the connection between bicycles and women's suffrage. All in the service of her main point: "Deep play always involves the sacred and holy." But it doesn't just happen. It must be invited. People committed to deep play often court what Ackerman refers to as "littoral moments," moments on the brink. Such courting can be intense. The words "ordeal," "risk," and even "pain" crop up regularly in Ackerman's book. In her investigation of play, she turns to the word itself to find clues and learns that play was once something "more urgent and abstract" and inherently laden with risk. Transcendence doesn't require extreme measures, Ackerman says. Although she's been privileged to swim with dolphins and visit Antarctica, she insists that the wonders of deep play are always at hand. To prove her point, she dwells on the humble bicycle as a gateway to deep play. When she rides a bicycle, Ackerman progresses from awareness of her hand on the handlebars to a consideration of all things related to touch -- from diapering babies to pushing buttons to the way synapses fire. That cascade of free association may not be a part of everyone's experience, but anyone who has ridden a bike will certainly recognize the freedom and fun. Terr would agree. Whether you give in to the siren call of a bicycle, host a tea party with all the trimmings, or free-climb like a spider up a sheer rock face, you can give yourself to play and reap the benefits. Personally, I'm giving myself the present of a good runner sled. -- Blythe Woolston is a freelance editor and writer who lives in Billings, Montana.
Reviewed by C.E. McLaughlin, MD, a professor of sports medicine at the University of California at Berkeley.
Our reviewers are members of Consumer Health Interactive's medical advisory board.
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First published May 15, 2001
Last updated December 15, 2005
Copyright © 2001 Consumer Health Interactive
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