Black Women, Gaming, and Joy: Why I Still Play at 46
People ask me how I look so young at 46. I honestly think they’re just being polite. But I tell them, “I drink water and play video games.”
They laugh. I laugh. The joke lands.
But I’ve been gaming since Jungle Hunt. Since blowing into cartridges; it was a sacred ritual that could fix any console ailment. Yes, I’ve been gaming since the early days of Atari 2600, when graphics were blocks and imagination did the heavy lifting. This isn’t a phase I forgot to grow out of. It’s another part of me (yes, I sang it. IYKYK).
The Myth of Severe Adulthood
Somewhere along the way, adulthood was marketed to us as a permanent furrowed brow—seriousness, responsibility, perpetually busy, and exhausted af. As if maturity requires you to leave your joy at the door and replace it with a planner, a budget spreadsheet, and a long, heavy sigh.
Play, they tell us, is for children. Imagination has an expiration date. And women—Black women especially—should grow out of “frivolous” hobbies.
I didn’t. And nothing collapsed. The world did not end. The bills are still getting paid. The deadlines are still being met. The house still stands.
Play isn't immaturity. It’s self-care. If anything, gaming kept me sharp. Games keep you curious. They demand problem-solving, pattern recognition, and patience. They humble you. Quick. They make you try again. They introduce you to entire worlds and communities you might never have met otherwise, something I talked about more in my Where Winds Meet review.
Video games didn’t make me childish. They kept me from calcifying. There’s a difference. That difference is something writers and scientists have understood for generations.
“The ability of writers to imagine what is not the self … is the test of their power.”
Calcifying is what happens when you decide you’ve seen enough, learned enough, imagined enough—when wonder becomes inconvenient, and delight feels unserious. Play disrupts that.
Aging Without Abandonment
At 46, I don’t confuse seriousness with wisdom. I know when to log off. I know when to book the trip. I know when to rest. I’ve added discernment to the joy, not traded joy for discernment. And in that, found new ways to move with intention, something I explored more when I started practicing the Five Animal Frolics in Where Winds Meet..
I planted this years ago, back when I was a little girl glued to the screen, memorizing patterns, chasing high scores, in awe at the worlds made of light. I didn’t know I was planting anything. I just knew I loved it.
Now I’m harvesting the dividends: a flexible mind, fast reflexes, a built-in portal to the most magical worlds on even the most ordinary Tuesday.
That’s not just my personal experience, but cognitive scientists found that engaging in challenging, play‑like activities supports mental flexibility, memory, and adaptive thinking well into adulthood. According to a 2017 review published in Frontiers in Psychology, adults who regularly participate in mentally stimulating play, like video games, puzzles, creative hobbies, or immersive problem‑solving, show benefits in cognitive function and stress regulation compared with those who do not.
Watching fireworks in Where Winds Meet with the homegirl
The Quiet Rebellion of a Black Woman Who Still Plays
For Black girls, play isn’t always protected. Unfortunately, too many of us grow up fast. Responsibility arrives early. We’re praised for being mature beyond our years—strong, capable, and reliable. We’re rarely encouraged to remain playful.
So, whether it’s playing video games, watching anime, collecting books, and/or plushies—that’s quiet rebellion.
There is something delicious about a Black woman in her 40s saying, out loud—without apology, “I still play.” Not as a guilty pleasure or framed as something I finally allowed myself after earning it through exhaustion.
Returning to girlhood isn’t regression. It’s reclamation—allowing whimsy to coexist with wisdom. It’s getting excited about a new release the same way I did as a child. It’s planning travel around experiences that feed curiosity. It’s decorating my space with things that make me smile.
The Controller Was Never Up for Surrender
Gaming has evolved over decades—from 8-bit jungles to sprawling cinematic universes. And you know what? So have I. Strategy. Community. Narrative. Adaptation. The medium grew up, and so did I.
Adulthood didn’t take my controller. I kept it.
Not because I’m clinging to youth, but because I understand something now that I didn’t at 16: joy is maintenance, curiosity is skincare, and wonder is resistance training for the spirit.
When people ask how I look young at 46, I still tell them, “I drink water and play video games.”
It’s jokes, but not really.
I hydrate.
I game.
I honor my responsibilities.
And I refuse to let adulthood steal my joy.
I don’t chase youth; I maintain whimsy.
Maybe that’s the real secret. Not anti-aging serums or perfectly curated routines but never surrendering the parts of yourself that light up when the screen flickers on where new worlds await.
Adulthood didn’t take my controller. It was never up for surrender.
