I Went to a Playfulness Workshop and Ended Up Wrapped in Toilet Paper (Happily)

Last week, as part of the deep, tortuous, intellectual Pulitzer prize winning research for my book Why So Serious, I found myself at a playfulness workshop. Run by the ever-unpredictable and rather brilliant Ailon Freedman - our very own Patch Adams, an old collaborator of mine, and a man whose life’s work appears to be making grown adults feel extremely silly in public, while helping us lead the sort of lives we only read about on fridge magnets. You know the sort of thing: "You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough." - MAE WEST – which I just found but made me smile.

I knew it was going to be a little uncomfortable. The website had photos of grown-ups in colourful clothes you wear at festivals, rolling about on the floor like toddlers on espresso. And even though I  work in the world of creativity, a significant part of me cringed.

But I went. Because I knew I’d learn something. And I knew I’d be uncomfortable. Possibly very. And I don’t get to feel that very much any more while people attending my workshops probably will. My prediction:

1. Awkwardness.

2. A surprise insight.

3. A big dose of fun.

So what happened:

Well the uncomfortable bit was full on. Five minutes in, two large grown men were flopping around on the floor just like little beached whales. And yes I looked just like Louis Theroux pretending he‘s chilled while hanging out with Yungblud. 

Shortly after that, we were told—without warning or warm-up—to dance around the room in any way we liked. No instructions. No rhythm required. Just uninhibited movement, like kids at a sugar-fuelled birthday party. I did some Dad dancing to show willing but I was not enjoying it.

And that’s the thing about discomfort: no matter how much you mentally prepare for it, it still feels the same. Uncomfortable. It’s meant to stretch you. Whether it’s dancing without rules, presenting in front of an audience, learning to drive, or sitting with someone in pain rather than glossing over it, discomfort is the gateway to something deeper.

For the record, when I told my wife this part, she said, “Oh, I’d have loved that—I’d be on the floor with the whales.” Which says a lot about her. She's clearly braver and looser than me. But it also says something important: discomfort doesn’t mean something’s wrong. Sometimes it means you're on the edge of a breakthrough.

As I say in http://freeyourfunny.com  play is serious business. It shakes off the self-consciousness, makes space for spontaneity, and lets us connect without needing to impress anyone. It’s where the best creativity lives—messy, joyful, mildly embarrassing.

And you know what? Somewhere between the awkward dancing, games initiated by Ailon and improv games with minimal rules and note absolute zero judgement, something shifted. By the end of the session, I was  running around the room wrapping strangers in toilet paper. And I loved it I even found myself thinking, “When’s the next one?”

So, what did I learn? That play is a portal. That discomfort isn’t the enemy—it’s the invitation. And that sometimes, the biggest breakthroughs happen when you surrender your cool and reach for the loo roll.

Fancy shaking off your serious side? Go check out http://freeyourfunny.com or look up Ailon’s genius https://www.colethouse.org/playfulness.  I’ll see you there. I’ll be the one with the toilet paper.