The Adult Version of the Game of Life

On staying true, making room, and letting the body slow down

Through the windows, the sun bounced off the snow, and after many days of single-digit temps, 42 degrees Fahrenheit was warm.

“Let’s go for a walk” I said to my preschooler, Noa, and she agreed, putting on her snow boots and yellow puffer jacket, red mittens that her great-grandmother knit hanging out of her sleeves. She grabbed a bag of candy-coated pretzels, “in case we get hungry!” and we set out the front door, snow crunching under our boots.

“Mom! Maybe we’ll see someone we know!”

Maybe so, my love, maybe so. We walked towards Lake Michigan, crossing a couple side streets before arriving at the snow-covered bluff, where Noa selected a bench.

We looked out at the lake. “It’s so bid-i-ful,” Noa said. It is beautiful. It really is so beautiful.

Noa on the bench on the bluff.

Soon, we started back, and, sure enough, we saw someone we knew. Walking towards us was a friend of mine who also works at Noa’s school. Noa told our friend she was leading the way home and practicing knowing when it’s safe to cross the street. Our friend agreed it is good to practice making decisions like that.

We carried on. Noa ran ahead, then stopped. I caught up to her. “I’m letting my body slow down,” she said, standing on the sidewalk, breathing deeply.

She’ll be four years old next month, this sunshine child who races ahead and also knows when and how to let her body slow down. I thought about how the tiny moments on this walk symbolized so much of how I want to live.

A while back, my kids played The Game of Life at the library. As a child, I, too, enjoyed driving my car around the board, adding little plastic people to the seats, imagining my future. I bought my kids The Game of Life Junior, which they deemed boring. They wanted the original, what they called “the adult version.” For a subsequent occasion, they received an updated version of the original game. They now regularly ask, “Mom, will you play The Adult Version of The Game of Life with us??”

Oh, sweet children, I am currently playing The Adult Version of the Game of Life.

A dear friend asked, just before Christmas, how I was feeling about the new year. I said I wasn’t sure what to feel, no grand goals, just looking ahead, bracing myself to process and act according to what came. I was talking more about the political landscape than my personal life; although, as we know, the political is personal. I told my friend the inauguration was looming in my thoughts and feelings, that January 20th felt like a bigger demarcation to me than January 1st.

Our family of four spent the days before New Years with family in Nashville and drove home to Illinois on January 1st. News of a terrorist attack in New Orleans crossed my husband and my phones on the drive. The kids were mostly quiet, except, of course, when they were whining or screaming. They each dozed some. I contorted and twisted, doling out snacks and activities and blindly retrieving dropped objects. Noa fell asleep for the night by the end. At home, I successfully carried her up and transferred her to her bed. Her big sister also, miraculously, went right to sleep.

Marc and I sat on the couch and felt the relief of arriving home after navigating the festive carnival maze that is The Adult Version of the Game of Life as parents in the month of December. I journaled and told Marc that I did feel some new year energy, after all.

And then, less than three weeks into 2025’s game of life, the year’s already been so much.

Last week, I was writing in our family’s Christmas memory book, and I read the previous year’s entry, which ended:

This season was abundant with beauty, joy, and connectedness. We paced ourselves, planned, prepared, and enjoyed. The season was full and also pleasurable. There was rest and reflection. Our hearts were full and grateful. There is dire suffering in our world, and we felt that, too. There was room.

There’s so little we can control and no way to know what will come. I know I believe in taking action to take care of people, standing up for my values, and making room, so that’s what I will continue to do. And the energy that will sustain the work ahead will come from taking walks, noticing something beautiful, stopping to say hello, practicing crossing the streets, running ahead with gusto, and knowing when and how to let my body slow down.