Permission To Simply Play
Sep 01, 2025 06:00AM ● By Tommy Housworth
For better or worse, most of the things I’ve been halfway good at in my life have been things I’ve managed to—and I hate this term—“monetize.” Not satisfied with the friendly confines of community theater, I sought out an acting and directing career. Too vain to keep my musings to myself, I looked for ways to get my writing into the public eye.
Yet, this way of thinking can offer a slippery slope. Over time, activities we have a hunger for can lose their magic when they become an obligatory treadmill instead of a leisurely stroll. After all, some things in life should be about delight, not deliverables.
So, when my wife Wendy and I signed up for acrylic painting classes last year, I was determined to focus on the simple joy of creating rather than an outcome. It was something I didn’t need to be good at, so I could just enjoy the ride, right? It was time to roll up my sleeves and have some childlike fun.
But, alas, the artist’s ego is a stubborn and fragile thing. After four classes covering technique, color mixing, layering and other basics, we were given the freedom to bring in images we wanted to paint, from pastoral landscapes to Dali-inspired surrealism.
As I struggled with simple imagery—symbols like an Enso, the Japanese Zen circle and a Sanskrit “Om”—my classmates painted richly detailed trees, textured rivers and expressive animals with personalities that seemed to leap off the canvas. While they brought out the limitless array of blended shades and hues, I was doing my best to salvage globs of monochromatic messes.
To her credit, our teacher kept an encouraging tone, but after many years of being on both sides of the audition table, I could spot a valiant attempt at a positive poker face when I saw one. While other students’ works were promising, mine were weekly passengers on the struggle bus. Even worse, my overwhelming need to impress, coupled with my unwillingness to accept that I was a complete novice in a ridiculously challenging art form, made for classes that were painted in layers of discouragement accented with occasional flecks of fun.
I did my best to deflect. I kept small talk going and enjoyed the retro-fueled playlists that brought sonic energy to the studio. Still, there was no denying that I went home most nights feeling like a failure in an ungraded class. Wendy’s pep talks were helpful, as were YouTube videos of Bob Ross wannabes teaching technique. But the bottom line was, I had no natural aptitude for painting. Rather than granting myself some grace, I resorted to beating myself up for not being Van Gogh from the get-go.
I’d somehow managed to take a fledgling hobby—a chance to play—and turned it into work. I needed to be good instead of playful. I needed to be praised instead of merely present. From that night on, I remembered Mr. Watts’ words as well as the sign that Quincy Jones posted outside the studio during the “We Are the World” recording sessions. It read “Leave Your Egos at the Door.”
Slowly, painting became fun. Judgment gave way to joy, disapproval to something resembling delight. I’ve accepted that I’ll never dazzle others with my visual artistry. Or, maybe someday, with the right amount of play, I will. But it will be play that gets me there. Because I finally gave myself permission to do just that. ❧
Tommy Housworth is a professional writer and creative director for corporate projects. He’s a certified mindfulness instructor, the author of two collections of short stories and he publishes on Substack.
Yet, this way of thinking can offer a slippery slope. Over time, activities we have a hunger for can lose their magic when they become an obligatory treadmill instead of a leisurely stroll. After all, some things in life should be about delight, not deliverables.
So, when my wife Wendy and I signed up for acrylic painting classes last year, I was determined to focus on the simple joy of creating rather than an outcome. It was something I didn’t need to be good at, so I could just enjoy the ride, right? It was time to roll up my sleeves and have some childlike fun.
But, alas, the artist’s ego is a stubborn and fragile thing. After four classes covering technique, color mixing, layering and other basics, we were given the freedom to bring in images we wanted to paint, from pastoral landscapes to Dali-inspired surrealism.
As I struggled with simple imagery—symbols like an Enso, the Japanese Zen circle and a Sanskrit “Om”—my classmates painted richly detailed trees, textured rivers and expressive animals with personalities that seemed to leap off the canvas. While they brought out the limitless array of blended shades and hues, I was doing my best to salvage globs of monochromatic messes.
To her credit, our teacher kept an encouraging tone, but after many years of being on both sides of the audition table, I could spot a valiant attempt at a positive poker face when I saw one. While other students’ works were promising, mine were weekly passengers on the struggle bus. Even worse, my overwhelming need to impress, coupled with my unwillingness to accept that I was a complete novice in a ridiculously challenging art form, made for classes that were painted in layers of discouragement accented with occasional flecks of fun.
I did my best to deflect. I kept small talk going and enjoyed the retro-fueled playlists that brought sonic energy to the studio. Still, there was no denying that I went home most nights feeling like a failure in an ungraded class. Wendy’s pep talks were helpful, as were YouTube videos of Bob Ross wannabes teaching technique. But the bottom line was, I had no natural aptitude for painting. Rather than granting myself some grace, I resorted to beating myself up for not being Van Gogh from the get-go.
No Masterpieces. No Mistakes.
Then, one night in class, as I looked around the room, I realized everyone—to a person—was so engaged with their own canvas, it was as if no one else existed. They were lost in their creations regardless of their level of progress and quality. There were no masterpieces. There were no mistakes. Just painters at play. An Alan Watts quote I’d read returned to mind: “This is the real secret of life—to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.”I’d somehow managed to take a fledgling hobby—a chance to play—and turned it into work. I needed to be good instead of playful. I needed to be praised instead of merely present. From that night on, I remembered Mr. Watts’ words as well as the sign that Quincy Jones posted outside the studio during the “We Are the World” recording sessions. It read “Leave Your Egos at the Door.”
Slowly, painting became fun. Judgment gave way to joy, disapproval to something resembling delight. I’ve accepted that I’ll never dazzle others with my visual artistry. Or, maybe someday, with the right amount of play, I will. But it will be play that gets me there. Because I finally gave myself permission to do just that. ❧
Tommy Housworth is a professional writer and creative director for corporate projects. He’s a certified mindfulness instructor, the author of two collections of short stories and he publishes on Substack.
