Letter from a HappyPower Reader｜Written in Response to “Play is a Right, and a Force”

Isi pan
Dec 31
6 min read

Updated: Jan 31

Dear HappyPower team,

Hello! I’m Guayi, a university student and a designer.

Someday in the future, I hope to become an environmental educator — someone who weaves climate, space, culture, and community into a shared fabric of experience. And I’ve come to realize that many of our deepest feelings toward the environment, and our sense of belonging to a community, often begin with one thing: play.

After reading your article, I felt something light up in me — something that hadn’t lit up in a long time.

The way you write — gentle, firm, and unapologetically clear — reminded me of a truth we all know but often forget:

Play is not a byproduct of work. It is not a luxury of life. It is a fundamental part of being human.

In this letter, I want to keep the conversation going, through three sentences you wrote that stayed with me.

1. “In modern cities, play has become something tightly scheduled.”

This line slowed me down when I read it. Earlier this year at the EDRA (Environmental Design Research Association) conference, I heard a study that left a deep impression on me. The researcher had observed how people used everyday spaces in a certain cultural-commercial district. They found that whenever the few open plazas were temporarily taken up by exhibits, signs of children playing would almost entirely disappear. Even when children did show up, their movements were limited to interacting with screens on booths, or lingering quietly at the edges of adult conversations.

The familiar scenes of childhood play — meeting new friends, making up rules, chasing, arguing, reconciling — had almost vanished.

I understand that commercial spaces aren’t designed for children. They don’t bring in direct revenue, they aren’t the target consumers, and they’re not considered “key users.” So in malls, pedestrian streets, and exhibitions, the message is clear: “Don’t play here.” “Don’t get in the way of adult spending.” That logic is already embedded in every chart and spreadsheet of space usage.

But the real problem is this: As our public life becomes increasingly commercialized, and when the most common “public space” families visit is simply the mall downstairs — how can we still confidently say children don’t belong here?

If the axis of the city is consumption, then are children merely a “carried-along” group?

Perhaps we haven’t explicitly denied children the right to play — but we’ve silently agreed that they only belong in “designated kids’ centers,” within “soft fences,” under adult supervision. They are only allowed to exist in the spaces we’ve assigned for them.

But there’s a deeper issue: In rapidly developing cities, informal play spaces are the first to be overlooked, and the easiest to erase.

So how can we preserve the possibility of play in an ever-changing urban landscape?

Perhaps we need a new spatial language — one that marks the city’s in-between spaces with signs of play.

Just like what HappyPower is doing: using modular, mobile play infrastructures to plant flags in the gaps of the city, building entry points into the world for children.

2. “Have adults really stopped playing — or just stopped being allowed to play?”

You posed this question gently, and it hit me hard. My eyes welled up.

I’ve observed this not just in myself, but in the people around me: adults still play.

We twirl pens at our desks, tap on mobile games during commutes, try our luck at claw machines, hop over puddles in the rain. But these actions are no longer called “play” — they’re labeled “zoning out,” “relaxing,” “taking a break,” or “wasting time.”

When did we start needing excuses just to play?

Research in neuroscience and psychology has long shown: we never stop needing play.

It’s just that society slowly strips away our right — and our space — to play.

According to Newsweek (2023), play is as vital to adult mental health as sleep, nutrition, and exercise. It’s a key mechanism for resilience, happiness, creativity, and connection.

The National Institute for Play goes even further: Play is not “an escape from responsibility,” but a basic way for us to find meaning and belonging. It’s how we engage with the world — not just in childhood, but across our entire lives. (Brown & Vaughan, 2009; NIFP, n.d.)

But our cities don’t see it that way.

Many playgrounds are marked “for ages 12 and under.” Adults are subtly — or explicitly — unwelcome. Slides, swings, trampolines, game zones… none of it “belongs” to us.

We’ve grown so used to equating “play” with “children” that we forget: adults have the right — and the ability — to keep playing, too.

So maybe what we need isn’t just playgrounds for kids, but spaces that preserve the possibility of play for grown-ups:

A place to fail safely.

A corner where the rules can be rewritten.

A city node where, once you start playing with others, time disappears.

We haven’t stopped needing play.

We’ve just been discouraged for far too long.

Or perhaps — we’ve misunderstood what it really means to “grow up.”

3. We’ve always been co-creating spaces of play.

You mentioned the importance of involving children in space design — and I fully agree.

But as you also pointed out: kids have always been co-creators of play spaces.

Gathering rocks around a patch of sand in an alley. Tying a rope to a tree for a swing. Building kitchens out of bricks, drawing goalposts in the dirt, claiming territory among a cluster of trees. These aren’t “amenities” — they’re locally invented worlds, mapped with bodies and named with experience.

So when we say “participatory design for children” is a progressive idea, I think it’s more of a return — a return to the world where children have always had the ability to speak, to express, and to create.

But today, within rigid urban structures and administrative systems, we need to rediscover that sense of freedom that doesn’t ask for permission.

We need to more systematically empower children, families, and communities to become co-designers of space.

In 2025, in Newcastle, UK, a group of 9- to 10-year-olds took part in a neighborhood design study.

Armed with stickers of five different colors, they rated every corner of a map — what they liked, what felt unsafe, what made them uncomfortable.

They said:

“I like this little hill — I can slide down it on my board.” “There are birds singing here. I think they live here too.” “Why can’t we plant trees here?”

Their favorite places weren’t the mall play zones. They were pocket parks, empty church plazas, and streets where they could run freely with friends. What made them feel unsafe wasn’t just big roads, but shards of glass, overflowing trash bins, and a narrow alley where people often shout.

The researchers encoded and spatialized these voices — and found that what supported children’s daily mobility and well-being most were not just green spaces, but walkable networks of small, familiar places, and micro-community corners where people could connect.

(Cities & Health, Michail, Torun & Parnell, 2025)

This conclusion echoes what we’ve been exploring since the beginning of this letter.

But I want to emphasize one more thing: “Child participation” shouldn’t just be a checkmark in a project report. It should be something every child can say and feel honestly:“This is a place we built together. I like it here.”

And it’s the responsibility of researchers, designers, and policymakers to provide kids with microphones, maps, giant canvases for sticker tags — and more importantly, the patience to truly listen.

Because as long as someone’s listening, children will tell you exactly: what needs to change, and how to change it. I hope actions like these can take root and blossom in every corner of the world.

Thank you, truly, for writing what you wrote. To me, the word HappyPower doesn’t just refer to electric energy — it also means possibility: the potential to connect, to trust, to transform — all unlocked through play.

You wrote: “Children are not citizens of tomorrow — they are collaborators of today.” And I’d like to quietly add: Each of us is a designer of a more playable future. Let that future not be far away — but something we’re already building, playing, and reimagining, here and now.

With love,

Guayi

Summer, 2025