Unstructured Play: The Building Block of Creativity

When I was a kid, I LOVED LEGOs. There was no better feeling than dumping out a big tub of mismatched LEGO bricks onto the floor and diving in headfirst. I’d start by building the sets just like the instructions told me to. The firetruck, the Royal Knight's Castle, a Space Police spaceship with tiny plastic lasers and swooshable wings. But eventually I'd tear those sets apart so I could make my own designs come to life! Robots with flamethrowers for arms. Castles with hidden trapdoors. Spaceships that could transform into submarines because… why not?

And once the building was done, I’d play out stories with them, fighting alien invaders, rescuing prisoners from the pirate's hideout, escaping from collapsing volcano bases. What I didn’t know then was that I was learning the foundation of something I now value deeply: the joy and value of unstructured play.

From Instruction to Imagination

In an earlier post, I compared cooking to creativity.  You start with recipes to learn the foundations, then you start mixing and layering, swapping ingredients, taking risks. LEGOs are the same way.

The sets are the recipes. They teach structure, technique, and a designer’s way of thinking. But eventually, you toss the book aside. You learn which pieces work well for support, which ones make cool textures, how to “cheat” the system to make something entirely your own (Side Note: If you've never seen videos on YouTube of some of the amazingly insane stuff people have made out of LEGO, stop reading and go check them out).

That shift from following a plan to building your own world, is where play becomes freedom.

And yet, as an adult, I sometimes find it harder to build without a prompt. I still love LEGOs. I have sets around my house (especially the botanicals). I’ve stayed up late just sorting pieces. But now, I often find myself gravitating back to the instruction books. That wide-open play space I once embraced so freely feels harder to enter. Not because it’s any less fun, but because adulthood often teaches us to optimize instead of imagine.

That’s a shame.  But there are other ways to scratch my need to design and create my own worlds.

The Sandbox Is Sacred

The popularity of games like Minecraft, Terraria, or Tears of the Kingdom show that people still want to play without purpose. Give someone an open world, some tools, and time and they’ll build entire cities in the clouds. Not because they’re told to. Not because they’ll win a prize. But because they can.

That kind of sandbox play is rare and beautiful. It invites problem solving, experimentation, and storytelling. It’s a grown-up version of my LEGO-strewn bedroom floor.

Whether you’re stacking plastic bricks, telling a story in Dungeons & Dragons, or building an elaborate base in Valheim, the best part of unstructured play is that no one can tell you you’re doing it wrong.

It’s just you and possibilities.

Why This Matters

Unstructured play isn’t childish. It’s where creativity lives. When we let go of outcomes, we make space for curiosity. We rediscover that it’s fun to tinker, to try something wild, to build just to see if it works. And in a world that’s increasingly efficient, measurable, and monetized, carving out time to play just for play’s sake is a radical act.

It’s also a deeply human one.

So whatever your version of LEGO is (actual bricks, a sketchbook, a sandbox game, a kitchen full of strange ingredients, wood working) return to it. Build the thing with instructions if that’s where you need to start. Then toss the book aside and make it yours.  Go play!