The Fun Project

I’m currently reading a book by this title, and last year (2025) I also set out to consciously prioritize play. Not in the impulsive, loud, or thrill-seeking sense—because that’s never really been my relationship to fun. As an INFJ and Enneagram 1w2, my playfulness has always been quieter and more internal: visionary, whimsical, imaginative. My playground has lived in ideas, meaning, and future possibilities.

That kind of play has often been negatively reinforced by my environment. My spouse enjoys surface-level play—silly banter, games, slapstick humor—and has at times been dismissive of my visionary nature. To him, seeing far into the future can feel foolish. To me, it has always felt like freedom. Like play.

My work and family history required me to be pragmatic, present-focused, and responsible from a young age. I was often “the adult,” even as a child. Survival and competence were prioritized over exploration and delight, and over time, my instinct for play grew quieter. I don’t seek cheap thrills or novelty for novelty’s sake. What I find fun is learning—especially learning vicariously through the lives of others. Reading, watching shows and movies, observing YouTube creators’ day-to-day routines, and bearing witness to ordinary lives all feel playful to me.

I suspect this is partly because I didn’t grow up in what most would consider a “normal” environment. Watching normalcy now is both regulating and quietly fascinating. It feels like play, but also like grounding.

The therapy room has become an unexpected sanctuary for this part of me. Within its clear boundaries and shared purpose, I am often at my most authentic—irreverent, intuitive, and occasionally silly. My weirdness isn’t merely tolerated there; it’s useful. Meaningful. Healing. Play seems to thrive where depth is sanctioned, where curiosity is welcomed instead of dismissed. While therapy work can be depleting, it remains one of the few spaces where my natural way of engaging the world is affirmed.

Creativity, too, is playful for me—but only when inspiration is present. It requires safety, spaciousness, and freedom from evaluation. Without those conditions, I’ve learned to be guarded. People have misunderstood or failed me often enough that guardedness became protection rather than resistance. I’m learning to soften that boundary slowly.

This project isn’t about forcing myself into culturally approved versions of fun. It’s about honoring a quieter, symbolic, meaning-oriented form of play—one rooted in curiosity, imagination, learning, and witnessing. The book speaks to how fun and intelligence are deeply collaborative, using figures like Einstein as examples of how playfulness and nonconformity fuel creativity and insight. That resonated deeply with me.

This isn’t just a trauma issue, or a parentification issue. It’s an adulthood issue. Somewhere along the road of growing up, many of us dissociate from play unless it involves drinking, partying, or momentary escapes that lack depth or meaning.

My fun is contemplative. Nonconformist. Deeply personal. Reclaiming it feels less like adding something new and more like remembering who I’ve always been.

So I’m curious—
What feels playful and fun to you, even if it feels like an affront to what society says fun is supposed to look like?