I haven’t done anything recently purely for enjoyment or relaxation. Somewhere between last December and this one, the space for play quietly slipped away—not dramatically, but gradually, as days filled themselves with necessary things and I stopped making room for lightness.
Some questions deserve honest answers, even when honesty feels uncomfortable. This December, WordPress asked me the same thing it asked two years running: what did I last do for fun? And for the first time, I had no answer. Not because my life is particularly difficult, but because play has quietly disappeared without me noticing.
When Nothing Feels Like Play: A December Reflection
The WordPress prompt returns today, for the third consecutive year: What was the last thing you did for play or fun?
Two years ago, I wrote about the joy of my college’s Christmas celebration. Last year, I explored finding fun in little things—a shared meal, a moment of laughter, the warmth of connection.
Two years ago, I wrote about the joy of my college’s Christmas celebration.
Last year, I explored finding fun in little things—a shared meal, a moment of laughter, the warmth of connection.
This year, my answer is different. Honest, perhaps uncomfortably so: I haven’t done anything recently purely for enjoyment or relaxation. Nothing that felt like play. Nothing chosen simply because it brought me joy.
It’s strange to admit. Not because I’m particularly busy or overwhelmed, but because somewhere between last December and this one, the space for lightness seems to have narrowed. Days have filled themselves with necessary things, practical things, things that need doing. And in that filling, play has quietly slipped away.
I wonder if this happens to others too—not dramatically, not with any particular event marking its absence, but gradually. A slow forgetting of what it feels like to do something for no reason other than it delights you.
Maybe it’s the season. December carries weight alongside its wonder. Maybe it’s the rhythm of adult life, where responsibilities compound and leisure starts to feel like something you have to earn or schedule. Maybe I’ve simply been moving through my days without giving myself space to ask: what would I actually enjoy doing right now?
The prompt feels particularly pointed this year because of its repetition. It’s asking me the same question it asked before, and my answer has changed. Not because circumstances have changed dramatically, but because I have—or perhaps because I’ve allowed myself to drift.
There’s something valuable in acknowledging this honestly rather than forcing a cheerful response about some small pleasure I half-remember. The truth is that recognising the absence of play might be the first step toward inviting it back in.
I don’t have a tidy conclusion about rediscovering joy or making time for fun. I haven’t planned some delightful activity for tomorrow that will neatly resolve this reflection. But I’m sitting with the question itself, which feels important.
What was the last thing I did for play or fun? I don’t know. But asking it—really asking it—might be where the answer begins.
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