Adulthood has a strange way of turning almost everything into a responsibility. We track our expenses, measure our productivity, monitor our sleep, plan our meals and maintain calendars that look like someone accidentally opened an Excel spreadsheet during an earthquake.

Even our hobbies are expected to achieve something. If you enjoy photography, someone suggests becoming a professional photographer. If you enjoy cooking, someone recommends starting a food channel. If you collect toys, someone explains their resale value. If you enjoy running, somebody eventually asks when you're doing your first full marathon.

Apparently, enjoying something without converting it into a measurable achievement is now considered suspicious behaviour.

Social media hasn't helped. We see people turning every personal interest into a side hustle, building audiences around their hobbies and earning money from things they once did simply because they enjoyed them.

There is nothing wrong with earning through something you love. But the moment every interest becomes a business opportunity, we risk losing the freedom that made it enjoyable in the first place.

Not everything we love needs to become productive, profitable or impressive. Some things can exist simply because they make life wonderful.

A toy doesn't need to teach me leadership. A LEGO set doesn't have to improve my strategic thinking. And a miniature car does not need to appreciate in value for me to enjoy having it.

Sometimes I just want to look at a beautifully designed little car and think, “That's a really nice little car.”
End of business case.

Having Children Makes It Even More Interesting

One of the unexpected joys of parenting is that children give us permission to enter worlds we had quietly left behind. Suddenly, visiting a toy store becomes a family activity. Building LEGO is quality time. Arranging dolls becomes a serious domestic responsibility, and discussing whether an elephant soft toy needs a new outfit is an entirely legitimate conversation.

The wonderful part is that children don't usually ask whether the activity is useful. They simply want you to participate. They aren't concerned about your designation, salary, professional reputation or the important presentation you're preparing. They want to know whether you're going to play with them.

And sometimes the most meaningful thing we can do is put aside our adult seriousness and join them.

I enjoy seeing my daughter's world of dolls, LEGO and little imaginary adventures. Watching a child become completely absorbed in play reminds me how easily we once entered a world where a cardboard box could become a spaceship and a small toy could carry an entire afternoon's adventure.

Children don't always need more toys. Sometimes they need someone willing to enjoy the toys they already have with them.

There is also a delightful difference between how children and adults approach collections. A child sees a beautiful toy and wants to play with it immediately. An adult collector sees the same toy and begins explaining why opening the packaging might reduce its value.

The child has already driven the car into a wall by then. Perhaps they're onto something.

We Don't Have to Become Boring to Become Responsible

There is a version of adulthood that seems to demand we become increasingly serious with every passing year. We must dress appropriately, speak carefully, make sensible decisions, save for retirement and gradually stop enjoying anything that could be considered childish.

Responsibility matters, of course. Families need care, careers need attention and financial decisions have consequences. But responsibility and playfulness are not enemies. I can be serious about my work and still get excited about a miniature car. I can care about my family's future and still spend an evening building LEGO. I can deal with complicated adult problems and still laugh at something completely ridiculous.

The distinction is between being childish and remaining playful.

Being childish is avoiding responsibility. Being playful is refusing to let responsibility consume every enjoyable part of life.

Growing older should give us more wisdom, not less wonder.

And perhaps that is something we need to protect intentionally. Life already provides enough opportunities to become tired, cynical, anxious and overly serious. We don't need to help it by voluntarily abandoning everything that makes us smile.

The Little Things We Carry Into Tomorrow

I wonder what my daughter will remember about me when she grows older. Perhaps she'll remember the places we travelled, the meals we cooked or the evenings we spent together. Perhaps she'll remember that her father had a slightly unreasonable interest in miniature cars.

I hope she'll remember that I enjoyed playing with her.

Not simply buying toys, but enjoying them together. Building something, imagining something, laughing when something breaks and discovering that an ordinary evening at home can become a memory worth carrying for years.

One day, she may grow up and become busy with her own career, family and responsibilities. And perhaps she'll walk into a toy store, notice something familiar and remember the little world we once built together.

That would be a rather wonderful return on investment.

As for me, I will probably continue collecting little things that make me happy. I don't need every toy I admire, and I certainly don't need to buy everything that reminds me of childhood. But I would rather remain the kind of adult who can still experience excitement over something small.

Because life has a way of taking away our time, energy and attention as we grow older. We shouldn't willingly surrender our sense of wonder as well.

I don't collect toys because I refuse to grow up. I collect them because growing up never gave me a good reason to stop enjoying them.

And if anyone still thinks that's childish, they're welcome to come over and discuss it.

Just don't open the Hot Wheels packaging without asking.