When I tell people to stop talking about their funk and go get a little play time in, they have a hard time “getting” what I mean when I say play, (and I mean get the way you “get” true love the first time you rock a sick baby through the night, to finally fall asleep at dawn, face to face, breathing each other’s dreams.) You “get” something when the love has become you and you have become the love.
The first time you stumble upon a deep, true playspace, and it saves you from the numbness and pain of the forgetting you will get play and then, that rainstorm of knowledge you have rumbling around up there from all the Oprah mags and bumper stickers, about how to play and be happier than a bird with a french fry, will seep down into the rich, suddenly unfrozen soil of your life.
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