Awareness & Mindfulness Archives

Not that long ago, I went to Disneyland with my family. The idea was simple: go to an amusement park to have fun.¹

After getting the (pricey) tickets, I started thinking that if we were going to do this, we had to do it “right.” I needed to do it efficiently, so I began strategizing how to ride all the rides we wanted. Once there, plan in hand, I dragged my family from one side of the park to the other. We rushed, we stressed out, we did it. I “won” at Disneyland.

But in winning, I missed the experience. I executed the plan successfully, yet it wasn’t fun.

That’s what striving does. It turns even an amusement park into a to-do list. It turns an experience into a chore. It turns life into labor. Based on what I see in my therapy practice, I’m not alone.

Do you ever feel like life is too much? Too many things to do. Not enough time. Too many messages to respond to. Too many crises. Too many ways to “improve ourselves.” Sometimes life can feel like a never-ending, grim self-improvement project.

So, what is the point?

Maybe deep down you’ve asked yourself that question. What if all our efforts amount to nothing? Or, as Shakespeare would put it, what if life is a “tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”? What if Camus is right and life is truly absurd?

These can feel like depressing (if not downright dangerous) questions. But could it be another way?

I want to suggest an alternative: Play hard… but don’t take yourself too seriously.

Of course, suggesting that life is “play” can sound dismissive or naïve. Am I saying that life amounts to nothing? Work is not only necessary but often edifying. And what about suffering, does “play” make it meaningless?

No, I am not saying that. I am saying that we often make our efforts carry a weight they cannot carry. Let’s unpack it.

A different way: Līlā

Hindu thought offers an intriguing idea: life as God’s līlā, a creative expression of divine play. This whole universe, us included, is God’s playground. Another way to say it is that God² is the sacred dancer, and we are the dance. The Divine is exploring possibilities, unfolding experience, and becoming intimate with its own creation through us.

From this perspective, life isn’t ultimately about achieving. It’s about participating.

Why life feels like work

Life feels like work partly because it’s designed to feel that way. There are layers of complexity that make the game both engaging and challenging.

We are biologically wired for survival. Since the advent of agriculture, life became future-oriented: plant, harvest, store, repeat. Modern economics suggests there is no room for freeloaders. We must be productive and add value. Psychology suggests that as children, we learn early on that we need to be “good boys and girls” and follow rules to be loved. And even religion, narrowly understood, can make life feel like there is something to achieve: Heaven, mokṣha, Nirvana…

What’s worse is that when we fail to perform, it can start to feel like there is something wrong with us. The stakes feel very high. No wonder it feels like there’s no room to play.

So, play hard… but don’t take yourself too seriously? Sounds like madness, unless we learn to see reality differently.

Two metaphors

Not everything we do in life is work, and not everything has a purpose.

Think about dancing or listening to music. Why do we listen to music? Why do we dance? Certainly not to win. If that were the case, the fastest musician would be the best, which is obviously absurd. The point is the experience itself.

Or what if life is less like a chore and more like going to the movies? Again, we don’t go to movies to win. We go to get lost in the story, to learn, to enjoy ourselves. We willingly enter the narrative while still knowing that it isn’t real. We don’t take it that seriously.

What about suffering?

Remember, we already established that this game of life is designed to feel like work. What about suffering and hardship? It has been suggested that part of suffering’s role is to “thicken the plot.”

Think about it. Would you want to watch a movie where nothing happens at all? A dancer who just stands there? A piece of monotone music? No. We appreciate a skillful dancer. We value a sophisticated piece of music, even if both are, in a utilitarian sense, “pointless.” We value the effort and time it takes to achieve excellence. Likewise, we love intricate movies. We pay to watch tragedies, thrillers, horror films, the kind that make our hearts race or bring us to tears.

The difference is that with music, dancing, and movies, we can remember it is not that serious and still enjoy the experience. In life, we get so engrossed in the action that we forget to witness it. We become method actors in our own drama.

Now, if life is play, are there any rules? Of course there are, although it is a bit of a stretch to call them “rules.” I’ll address that in a future article.

Movies, music, and dancing

We’ve seen that the game is wired to be challenging. All those layers may be designed to make us get lost in the storyline. We’ve also suggested that suffering thickens the plot, perhaps as the cleverest subterfuge to trap us in the narrative. However, please don’t read this as me (or the Hindu tradition) trivializing suffering.

We must be careful not to minimize another person’s pain. If one of my clients is suffering and I were to suggest that their misery is not real, I’d deserve to be punched in the face. Saying something like that would be spiritual bypassing and insensitive. When someone is suffering, we don’t philosophize. We meet them where they are. We honor their pain and support them in any way we can.

The Buddhists often say that pain is unavoidable, but suffering is optional. One way they explain this is through the Two Truths: relative and absolute.

At the relative or conventional level, harm is real, wounds hurt, and consequences are real. At the ultimate or absolute level (līlā), we can sometimes observe existence more like the audience of a movie. Suffering, and everything else, becomes plot. Whatever happens makes the story more engaging, but ultimately it is still a story.

The challenge is to hold both realities simultaneously: to fully engage conventional reality (like a football player engages a game) while not losing the perspective that, in the end, it’s still only a game (even if it happens to be the Super Bowl).

I’ve witnessed people touch this realization in psychedelic ceremonies. Often, they start laughing as if someone has told them a very funny joke. They report seeing the folly in their striving. I call this the cosmic laughter.

Pain does not invalidate the idea of life as play. It can block our access to it. Trauma contracts the body, and when the nervous system is bracing, play feels unsafe. With time and perspective, we sometimes see how our greatest battles and deepest wounds brought growth and change, just like the misfortune at the beginning of a movie becoming the call to adventure that pushes the story forward.

Building castles in the sand

It is possible to play hard while not taking ourselves too seriously. Let me borrow a powerful image from Nietzsche.

Imagine children building sandcastles at the beach. Picture them deeply engrossed in their work, making them taller, digging ditches… and then splash! A wave comes by and knocks it all down. The children both cheer and whine. They knew all along it was bound to happen. In fact, perhaps knowing it made everything more poignant.

What do they do next? Without missing a beat, they begin building another castle, fully aware it won’t last.

From a practical perspective, what they are doing is crazy. What is the point? Yet the ephemeral nature of the task does not keep them from giving themselves fully to it. Just like dancing. Just like listening to music. Just like watching a movie. Maybe, just like life, it is the experience that matters.

So next time you catch yourself worrying, striving, racing… remember those kids at the beach. How can you turn your efforts into play? Your struggle into a dance?

Play hard, but don’t take yourself too seriously.

Get it?

This is a written version of the first session of “The Unfolding,” a CSP’s monthly offering. For more information visit https://sacredpractices.org/ ↩︎
Please feel free to replace the word for Goddess or Mystery, the one that resonates best with you. ↩︎

Note: I wrote this article in Spanish back in 2003. Since I’ve been thinking about it, I’ve translated to English.

The purpose of life is to enjoy it.
— Dalai Lama

Allow me to outline a theory for you. You may agree or not, but I ask that you at least consider it before discarding it. Stay a “benevolent skeptic” as Freud would suggest.

Let us assume that God exists and is benevolent (debating these would be way beyond the purposes of this article and my pay grade). Let’s hold that this loving God (or Goddess if it suits you better) created a marvelous universe and (what I really want to focus on) this marvelous planet. Quoting Genesis: “God saw that everything He had made was very good.” For the sake of my argument, let’s compare the world to an amusement park, to a Disneyland multiplied to the nth power, where God is its director.

Now then: God created this perfect amusement park and placed us here. Even better, He gave us a universal ticket that allows us to enjoy every ride, so long as we are willing to walk to wherever they are. That’s all! When opening the gates of the park for us, the director said: “I made this park for you because I love you. The park is perfect down to the smallest detail and works exactly as it should. You are free to do whatever you want. Have fun.”

That sounds simple enough and amazing, doesn’t it?

Now, as is easily seen in life, as people enter the park, they take different attitudes (which is totally fine, since God invited us to do whatever we want):

Some stay at the information booth, reading the map and becoming experts on the park and its wonders. They are willing to direct and instruct, often smugly, anyone on the “right way” to reach the Ferris wheel or the carousel; unfortunately, often they have not ridden them, they limit themselves to learn the map and pointing the(ir) way.

Very close to them, also in the information booth, we find those who spend their time waiting for the park director to tell them which rides to visit, begging Him to guide them along the “right” path He has undoubtedly laid out, so they can enjoy the park as it should be. Often worried about doing it wrong or trying to guess what rides He really wants them to see. Sometimes they interpret an event as the long-awaited “sign” and, if they’re lucky, end up experiencing the park; other times, they remain waiting, second-guessing the director’s instructions. Yet, God will not suggest rides for them, because doing so would interfere with the freedom He gave them—and He is the first to abide by the rules He Himself has established.

Others decide not to enjoy the amusement park because surely, somewhere else, there must be a better one—and they’ve concluded that if they “sacrifice” themselves in this one, the reward will be to enjoy that other park. Next to them, there’s a group convinced that since this park isn’t “real” or just a game, it isn’t worth playing, so they choose not to participate, sitting, waiting, practicing, dedicating their time to preparing for whatever comes after they leave the park.

Others choose competitive games—ring toss, target shooting, races. Their conclusion is that the only way to enjoy the park is to win many prizes and be admired by others for the number of stuffed animals they’ve accumulated. They subscribe to the idea that “he who dies with the most toys wins”. They prioritize winning and seek recognition for their achievements. What they don’t know (or rather refuse to see) is that they can’t take toys with them when they leave the park, because one of the few rules (to enter the park, NOT to be in it) is that you exit with exactly what you entered.

Some prefer the thrill rides, the roller coasters, the spinning attractions. They get on again and again. They get dizzy and vomit, but continue insisting on the same rides. Others prefer the haunted house—they get scared and get scared again, but choose (whether they realize it or not) to return to it over and over (the fear is real, the spooks aren’t). Alongside them are those who devote themselves to eating—popcorn, soda, hot dogs, ice cream, etc. All of them (Okay, us), freely choosing and then getting fully absorbed in our chosen activity that we forget we’re in an amusement park and convince ourselves it is reality (and perhaps even “serious” business).

Others spend their time complaining that some rides make them dizzy, others scare them, some are too far away, some require a certain height, and not everyone can enter all of them. They’re also irritated by the selfishness and lack of consideration of those who are having more fun than they are, and (although they may not admit it) jealous of those who seem to be enjoying the park. The more initiative-taking among them organize themselves to try to “improve” the park, perhaps convinced that the director needs a little help and that they know how to do it.

Very close to them are those who take on the role of hosts or helpers. They self-appoint as park guides, guardians, or protectors. They well-intentionedly decide that it is far more meritorious to help others enjoy the park than to enjoy it themselves. Many of them share a philosophy of the “sacrificed ones”; others have convinced themselves they don’t deserve to have fun in the park; and only a few actually enjoy this role, which -again- they freely choose.

Finally (though I’m sure with a little imagination we could find many more), there are those who take the director’s instructions literally and decide to enjoy the park. They wander through it, savoring the scares of the haunted mansion, the thrill of the Ferris wheel, the dizziness of the spinning rides, the excitement of healthy competition, the quiet moments, the food, the drinks, the scenery, etc. In short, they enjoy the stroll and the opportunity to be here. Curiously, these seem to be very few…

We spend our lives asking what its purpose is—Why am I here? We even ask if there is life after death. Someone once said it would be better to ask whether there is life before death. Tony de Mello used to say that most people are already dead; it’s just that the burial takes place some time later.

Why such concern over the meaning of life? Could it be that the meaning of life is simply… life itself? Why must it have an objective? Aren’t some of the best things in this world utterly without purpose? What is the goal of visiting an amusement park? What is the objective of music or dance? They have none! Alan Watts reminds us that we don’t dance in order to reach a corner of the room, nor do we listen to a musical piece waiting to get to the end. The Rolling Stones sang that life is the journey, not the destination; and John Lennon said that life is what happens while we’re busy making (waiting, begging for, etc.) other plans.

Why are we in this amusement park? I don’t know. Sometimes I imagine God at the exit gate, and I can almost see the people complaining to Him about the dizziness and the scares, demanding rewards for their sacrifices, those upset because He didn’t answer their pleas at the information booth, those expecting recognition for memorizing the map, etc. All of them forgetting that they themselves chose what to do, without imposition or request from God; while S/He, silently, smiles only at those who decided to take Him seriously and enjoy the park…

Isn’t the greatest reward for a parent to see their child happy? Might the best form of praise to God be to fully enjoy the wonderful creation? I suspect that would make Him (and Her) very happy.

But of course, what do I know? I’d love to hear your thoughts.