Somewhere along the way, we outsourced joy.
As kids, we played with whoever was available. If there were three people on the playground, that was the team. If there were ten, even better. Today, adults need to book a court, find a quorum, create a WhatsApp group, negotiate a time slot, and confirm attendance, just to move their bodies for 45 minutes. This right here, is slow death of spontaneity.

We’ve become a civilisation allergic to unstructured fun. And the more serious we become, the more “self-care trends” we invent to compensate. Gap years, for example, have become fashionable not because the world suddenly discovered travel. It’s because adults have forgotten to play along the way and now need a sabbatical to “rediscover themselves.” Imagine taking a year off just to remember how to be human.

I’ve spent a fair bit of time in two worlds, stand-up comedy and actual jungles, to see the same truth from opposite angles: play isn’t an accessory. It’s a survival skill.

Nature Laughs at Our Seriousness

Spend ten minutes watching wildlife and you’ll see something very obvious: animals don’t need permission to play. Otters slide just to slide. Hornbills toss fruit only to catch it again. Even the lemurs I met in Madagascar hop around like misfiring ballerinas, rehearsing nothing but freedom.

Meanwhile, we treat play as a reward. Something earned. Something that must be justified.

No other species behaves like this. We’re the only animals that turn life into an exam.

Comedy: Where the Human Animal Goes Feral

When I’m on stage, I’m not “performing”, I’m returning to a more honest version of myself. Comedy is controlled chaos. A good joke is a small rebellion against predictability. And when a joke bombs, it’s basically nature reminding you that you’re not the hero of the evening. You’re just another mammal trying something risky.

Bombing builds humility.
Playing builds courage.
Both demand the same thing: willingness to look foolish.

The Jungle: Original Curriculum for Play

My limited wildlife work, birding, snake rescues or even filming lemurs, forces one non-negotiable: presence. You can’t photograph a kingfisher while worrying about your inbox. You can’t remove a viper safely if your mind is replaying yesterday’s meeting. The wild is a place where seriousness becomes useless.

Out there, no other species care about your goals. Not the chameleon trying to cross the path. Not the eagle scanning the valley. The forest is one big improvisation, and you’re just a temporary guest.

Playfulness isn’t the opposite of discipline. It’s the opposite of self-importance.

Why Play Matters Now

Play does four things modern life desperately lacks:

1. It breaks patterns.
A joke disrupts thought loops. A walk in the wild breaks life’s algorithm.

2. It restores agency.
Adults feel trapped because they’ve scheduled themselves into corners. Play reopens a window.

3. It protects humility.
Miss a punchline or miss a bird shot, you learn quickly that perfection is a myth.

4. It reignites curiosity.
Play makes you ask “What if?” instead of “Why bother?”

Gap years, mindfulness retreats, dopamine detoxes, these are modern repairs for an ancient problem: adults who forgot how to wander.

The Over-Seriousness Problem

We’ve turned adulthood into a regiment:
Track your steps. Track your mood. Track your sleep. Track your productivity.

Kids don’t need wellness hacks.
They just play.
They don’t seek “experiences.”
They simply live.

We used to be those kids.

A Practical Return to Play

You don’t need a rainforest or a sabbatical to recover your wildness. You need small acts of rebellion:

– Say yes to unplanned games, unplanned walks, unplanned laughter.
– Play a sport without “a team” or “a slot” or “a quorum.”
– Spend time with something that doesn’t care about your résumé.
– Try things you’re joyfully bad at. (You should hear me sing)
– Follow curiosity even when it leads nowhere measurable.

Play is not childish. Losing your ability to play is.

Your Life Is Not a Serious Document

When I’m in the wilderness or on stage, the same rule applies: loosen your grip. The world is full of wonder, and most of it disappears when you walk around acting like a spreadsheet on legs.

The animals don’t apologise for being playful.
Comedians don’t apologise for being absurd.
Why should the rest of us apologise for wanting to feel alive?

Play isn’t optional.
It’s how you remember you’re human.