The Pure Fun of Acting Like a Kid Again

I didn’t plan for it to happen. In fact, if you’d asked me that morning how my day would go, I would have predicted a boring one. My weekend itinerary was uninspiring: laundry, grocery shopping, and a long list of mundane tasks. The idea of “fun” wasn’t even on my radar. But life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

It started with an innocent stroll through the neighborhood. The sun was warm on my face, the breeze carried the faint scent of blooming flowers, and for the first time in days, I wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere. As I walked past the local park, I noticed a group of kids playing.

They were a chaotic mix of laughter, shouts, and energy, chasing each other with water balloons and foam swords. Nearby, a few parents sat on benches, smiling but clearly exhausted. I stopped to watch for a moment, feeling a small pang of nostalgia.

When was the last time I’d run like that? When was the last time I’d laughed so hard my sides hurt? I couldn’t remember.

One of the kids, a boy with wild curly hair, noticed me standing there. “Hey! You wanna play?” he yelled, holding up a foam sword.

I almost said no. Adults don’t do that, I thought. Adults don’t join in kids’ games out of the blue. But then, something shifted. Maybe it was the way the boy smiled, or maybe it was the carefree energy in the air. Either way, I surprised myself by saying, “Sure, why not?”

Before I knew it, I was in the thick of it. Someone handed me a foam sword, and I became a knight defending my castle against an invading army of pint-sized warriors. We charged, we retreated, and we fought epic battles that only existed in our imaginations.

At first, I felt self-conscious. I kept waiting for the parents on the benches to give me odd looks or for someone to tell me I was too old for this. But instead, they smiled and laughed, clearly amused by how much I had thrown myself into the game.

As the battle raged on, I started to forget about the adults watching, about my to-do list, about everything except the sheer joy of the moment. My sword clashed against others, my feet pounded across the grass, and my laughter echoed alongside the kids’.

After the “battle,” someone brought out a giant chalk set, and we started drawing on the sidewalk. The kids made flowers, rockets, and stick-figure animals. I added a dragon to their collection, its fiery breath curling around a bright yellow sun.

“Whoa,” one of the girls said, staring at my drawing. “You’re really good at this!”

I smiled, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased. “Thanks. I used to do this all the time when I was your age.”

“Why’d you stop?” she asked, tilting her head.

The question caught me off guard. Why had I stopped? At some point, I’d traded chalk for spreadsheets, foam swords for conference calls. It wasn’t a conscious decision—it just happened. Life got busier, responsibilities piled up, and I forgot what it felt like to let go and play.

But in that moment, surrounded by colorful chalk dust and kids with wide smiles, I realized how much I’d been missing.

We ended the afternoon with an impromptu game of tag. I hadn’t run that much in years, and I was definitely out of breath by the end of it. But I didn’t care. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt alive—not weighed down by deadlines or worries, but light, carefree, and utterly present.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the kids started packing up their toys and heading home. I stayed behind for a few minutes, sitting on the grass and soaking in the golden light. My legs were sore, my hands were smudged with chalk, and my face ached from smiling.

It was the best day I’d had in years.

Walking home, I thought about how easy it is to get caught up in the seriousness of adulthood. We’re told to be responsible, to focus on our goals, to always think ahead. But in doing so, we lose something precious: the ability to find pure, unfiltered joy in the simplest things.

That day at the park reminded me that fun doesn’t have to be complicated. It doesn’t require expensive gadgets or elaborate plans. Sometimes, all it takes is a foam sword, a bit of chalk, and the willingness to let go.

Since then, I’ve made a promise to myself: every now and then, I’ll act like a kid again. I’ll jump in puddles, draw on sidewalks, and play games that make no sense but bring endless laughter. Because life is too short to take so seriously. And sometimes, the most grown-up thing you can do is just have fun.