Rekindling CounterPlay?

Ever since the most recent CounterPlay festival in 2019 (yes, it has already been SIX years!), I have been pondering ways of making it happen again, nurturing a rather persistent dream of bringing the play community back together. For long periods of time, especially during the Covid years and while grappling with my PhD project, I all but forgot about it. Had I finally moved on to better things? Apparently not, it always had a way of resurfacing, catching up with me again and again, here, there, whenever a fellow adventurer generously reminded me about the joys we had shared in moments of play.

And then, this past weekend, we somehow managed to organise a small, but lively gathering of people at our home in the Danish countryside. It was a beautiful blend of old and new friends, people who had a history with CounterPlay and people who didn’t, where the primary catalyst was simply our shared interest in and commitment to play.

Just like with previous CounterPlay events, I never quite knew what would happen, and I tried to avoid imposing the burden of my own expectations on anyone. The purpose was not so much to plan future CounterPlay events, or achieve any one outcome in particular, but rather to rekindle and reconnect with that special energy of play we remember with our bodies. We actively tried to eschew the fixed structures and strict schedules that so often haunt us in our adult lives, all these familiar obstacles that tend to get in the way of play. Instead, we wanted to cultivate an atmosphere where play might happen. We asked people to bring ideas for play, as well as their favorite animals, and then we would follow whatever impulses we might collectively feel drawn towards. From the outset, when I first saw my bubble-blowing friend Bart again after six years, and when more people started arriving the following days, there were already these little glimpses of play, like small promises that something glorious would happen soon. A shimmering, something felt just beneath the surface of things. It was a slow start, people had to settle in and find their footing, before willingly losing it again.

There is something magical about this shared, sincere interest in play that allows us to live together differently. We’re not congregating like this because we expect anything specific from each other, but because we are on the same journey, wandering ‘the playful path’ through life, as our friend Bernie would have said. As Helle Marie pointed out, it’s perhaps not that we expect or even demand play to happen, but we merely hope that it might emerge from our encounters, and that gentle, humble hope is the most magnificent thing.

Whether it was despite or because our reluctance to plan things, all sorts of play happened, both wild, unruly, euphoric play, and play that was more calm, slow, and introspective. There were people playing with words and poetry, quirky sun-powered contraptions, people making beautiful blueprints, blowing giant soap bubbles, playing card games that involved a loud bell, playing hide and seek and ‘sardines’, huddling together in treehouses and under beds. Then someone suggested flying paper airplanes over the field, and later another person wanted to make a ‘crazy golf’ course and we did and it was silly and not easy at all. We played when we cooked dinner, just like we played with the horses whenever we had the chance.

It was not that everything had to be play, but rather that everything could be, that there were no clear demarcations, no boring plaques or rules banning play anywhere, but just an emerging landscape of invitations, bubbling with a very special kind of affective intensity. I must admit, I am sometimes even more intrigued by the possibility of play than play itself. It doesn’t always need to happen, but I feel a lot better when I know that it might.

I’m sure I missed at least a few opportunities to play, because I was caught up in conversations or cooking or because I was simply tired. Playing like this is hard work and there were moments where I just couldn’t play anymore. But then I rested for a bit, hiding in the shade or walking with a friend, and before I knew it, another wave of play lifted me up and swept me away.

It was just utterly delightful to once more be surrounded by the sounds of play, the mischief, the sneaky little smiles, the loud laughter, the whispering between people hiding in plain sight, the deep conversations, and the sudden burst of energy when a few people got what might just be the best idea in the world.

When you know people probably won’t ask why, no explanation or excuse needed, when people are just curious to know what playing like this or like that might feel like, how it might allow us to be together otherwise, to relate differently to each other, to the world, to life. It’s the deep care for play and for the moments we share, a commitment to something larger than any one person, a willingness to give oneself over in the name of play. It is, I think, a deep love of life.

What a privilege it is to spend time with people like that, it makes me so profoundly grateful and it reminds me why I have missed this particular community so much.

Also, we have some exciting news to share soon, we just need a little time to sort things out. Suffice to say, there will be more CounterPlay in the future, and I can’t wait to play with you all again!