The Radical Act of Play

September 3, 2025

Cybelle Jones

Last night I watched the film My Old Ass. In it, an older version of the main character warns her younger self not to fall in love—because she’ll get hurt. Of course, she ignores the advice, falls anyway, and finds the love of her life.

It made me stop and think: how often do we do this to ourselves professionally? How often do we hold back—because we don’t want to make mistakes or risk looking foolish? And if we listen to that cautious voice, what do we miss? Maybe the professional “love of our life.”

Sparks from Childhood

When I look back, my favorite sparks didn’t come from playing it safe. They came from play.

In second grade, I wrote a play about fairies. I painted a craft-paper backdrop, hauled in costumes, and choreographed my classmates into dancing circles. It was fabulous—until I realized I hadn’t written a second act. Curtain down. But for those ten minutes, I was alive in the magic of it all.

By sixth grade, I had moved on to my next obsession. My grandfather gave me an enormous engineer’s pad with a compass, scale, and lead holders. I drew a modern treehouse with rainbow-colored interiors and then started designing houses for my entire family. That was the year I decided: I want to be an architect.

Of course, in between there were other career fantasies—pop star, race car driver, jeweler. (Honestly, who didn’t want to be a pop star?) None of them stuck. But they were all sparks. And funny enough, years later, one of those sparks circled back: when I was working on the Hall of Geology, Gems, and Minerals at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History, I actually got to try on the Hope Diamond. Proof that sparks can resurface in the most dazzling ways.

And sparks matter—extra sparks, please.

Why We Stop Playing

Those creations weren’t polished. They were messy, unfinished, bursting with possibility. But that’s the point. Somewhere along the way, we stop giving ourselves permission to play. We trade dreams for practicality. We shut the door on joy because it doesn’t look “professional” enough. But what if we let joy back in?

George Bernard Shaw said, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” It’s not aging that dulls us—it’s forgetting how to play.

Experimenting with Play at Work

At SEGD’s Xlab Studio Sessions this summer, we asked groups to design sitcom-themed amusement parks. The twist: choose a team role outside your area of expertise. People were hesitant, but the ideas that emerged were wildly inventive. Some of the best concepts came from those out of their comfort zones. That’s the point. Play lets us risk being the fool—and that’s often where the magic is.

One of my favorite reminders of this came at an SEGD British Design event at the V&A. Renowned designers were asked to bring an object that inspired them into the field. An older gentleman revealed a portable record player. He told the story of being a teen in post-war England, when life was gray and joyless. Every Sunday, his parents let him tune the radio to an American station that played Elvis Presley. For one hour a week, he glimpsed another world. That spark changed his life.

That’s what I’m talking about. The spark matters more than the outcome. The fairy play without a second act? Still a spark. The rainbow treehouse? A spark. The sitcom amusement park? A spark. An Elvis 45? Definitely a spark.

A Recipe for Sparks

When I first became SEGD’s CEO, I introduced creative themes for our daily staff check-ins—Turbo Tuesday, Moonshot Monday, Wellness Wednesday. (Yes, I even tried Karma Cleanse once. The team quickly voted that one off the island.) The point was simple: to give ourselves permission to play. To reframe the day with a spark of energy. And it works.

Here’s a recipe you can try this week:

Moonshot Monday: What would my 7-year-old self try if failure wasn’t possible? Sketch it, doodle it, daydream it—no editing.

Turbo Tuesday: Where can I throw in too much enthusiasm and see if it’s contagious? That idea in the meeting? Say it with spark. That email? Add the emoji. (I’m not ChatGPT.)

Wellness Wednesday: What tiny thing brings me joy, and how do I make space for it today?

Thankful Thursday: Who can I surprise with gratitude?

Flow Friday: When can I carve out time to play without worrying about outcomes?

And if all else fails? Crank your pump-up song until the walls shake. Play isn’t frivolous. Play is fuel.

✨ So I’ll leave you with this: What did your younger self dream of becoming—and how can you bring a piece of that spark back into your work this week?