Waiting for an Invitation: Lessons on When and How to Enter a Child's Imaginary World

After starting our session in the Chickadee Forest we hiked down the Forest Root Trail to Rocky and Mossy Place. As we settled into our play, the children started to disperse. Three children went up to check on their special places from the session before, higher ground with large rocks that offered a perch to the farmer’s field down below. Another group of children started to build small fires, oscillating between deep concentration and bursts of excitement and pride with each flame successfully lit. I stood there, observing the play and contemplating my next move.

As I looked around, I noticed that one child was off in the distance, alone, still within view, but back towards the forts, playing with a stick as the sun went down through the trees. I found myself immediately taking action, walking over to him, my pace quickening, worry overtaking me. I wondered why he was alone, if he was okay, if he was adjusting to our grief group, if he had any friends here, or if he felt lonely. My guiding assumption in this moment was this child wasn’t okay, and that he needed companionship, specifically, my companionship. As I got closer to him, my heart pumping with a combination of worry and compassion, prepared to yell his name, eager to let him know that I was there for him and ready to play.

Instead, I paused. (A powerful thing…the pause)! Right when I was about to yell his name, I noticed a look of contentment on his face, and that he was in another realm. He was holding a stick and running about and didn’t notice I was close by. He was talking to himself, acting out a scene that only he knew. I took a few steps back, receded to a pile of rocks and started to build with the materials in front of me while observing him from a distance.

What was unfolding before me was a child completely embracing their imagination, and finding themselves a flow state. According to Nakamura & Csikszentmihályi (2001), flow can be described as a positive and optimal state where someone gets completely lost and immersed in their work (play). A flow state is characterized by intense concentration, a merging of actions and the mind, a loss of self-consciousness, self-agency or an increased sense of control, an altered sense of time, and is intrinsically rewarding (Nakamura & Csikszentmihályi, 2001). When children are given time to deepen into their play, and when the adults supporting the play are intentional in how they are engaging and dancing in that play, children can enter into a flow state that can have very positive effects on the play itself, (such as the invention of a game that can last and morph for hours on end, or interactions that move from one sweet imaginary idea to another).

This flow state can also have very positive effects on children beyond their play and has been correlated with increased self-esteem, engagement, meaning, achievement, joy, and lower levels of anxiety. For children who are juggling busy lives and busy schedules, and for children in particular who have experienced adverse childhood experiences (ACEs), having the opportunity to tap into their imagination, to enter into a flow state with all the social and emotional benefits described above, provides a buffer like no other. It is through the imagination, (as well as in the supportive relationships around a child), that children can begin to learn new skills, test out what’s possible, challenge their current state, build grit and increase resiliency for what’s hard, and imagine a world where healing is possible.

As I sat on the ground with my pile of rocks observing this child at play, I realized that if I had stepped into that child’s imaginary world I would have completely disrupted something magical that was unfolding in front of me. As I sat there, I laughed quietly at my assumption that I was needed. Instead of “saving” or entering into a child’s play unannounced in the way I was going to, I decided to pause, wait and then to hold an open and attuned stance. I mirrored his solitary play, building something with the materials in front of me, ready to join in on the play, but only if and when I was invited in. About ten minutes later, this child was surprised to see me playing close by, and invited me into his play, specifically to build on his tiny world, and more specifically, to add to the cake that was being made inside his tiny fortress of rocks and moss. In that moment I was careful to honour his ideas, his silences, his world.

As we played together, he shared:


“Did you know that I have a very, very big imagination? No offense but my friend has an imagination the size of a peanut…”

“In my imagination, I have a different language where there are no vowels, cause that makes more sense. And a different number system where one plus one equals eleven not two.”

“I can spend two hours in my imagination, easy.”


This child has taught ME so much. In just one session he reminded me how sacred a child’s imagination is, and how, as adults, we must take care to nurture this imagination and honour it. How we go about nurturing and honouring a child’s imagination is a delicate dance, a stance of attunement, that is worthy of our time to understand and then to cultivate. How we gain entry to a child’s imagination, matters greatly. When we can honour their solitude, and have the patience to be invited in, we gain their trust and can engage with them in their play in a deeper and more meaningful way than if we had just assumed we were needed.

References:

Nakamura J, Csikszentmihályi M (2001). "Flow Theory and Research". In Snyder CR, Lopez SJ (eds.). Handbook of Positive Psychology. Oxford University Press. pp. 195–206. ISBN 978-0-19-803094-2.