When did everything become so terribly purposeful? We walk for our health. We do puzzles to keep our brains active. We take up hobbies to learn new skills. We read books to broaden our minds. We join groups to meet people.

We garden for exercise, meditate for our wellbeing and apparently even colouring in now needs to reduce our stress levels.

All perfectly good reasons, of course. But whatever happened to doing something simply because it was fun?

Not useful. Not productive. Not good for us.

Just fun.

We used to be rather good at this

As children, we rarely needed a compelling reason to do anything we enjoyed. We drew pictures without wondering whether we had artistic talent. We danced without considering whether it counted towards our daily exercise. We made things that nobody needed. We played games with absolutely no transferable skills whatsoever.

And we could spend an astonishing amount of time doing something completely pointless simply because it amused us.

Then, somewhere along the way, many of us became grown-ups. And grown-ups, it seems, like a reason. If we're going to spend two hours doing something, we feel it should ideally produce a result.

A finished painting. A healthier body. A beautifully organised garden. A new qualification.

Something we can point to and say, Look. I used my time wisely. But perhaps we don't always need to.

Retirement can come with a surprising amount of pressure

You might imagine that once we retire, all this focus on productivity would disappear. No more performance reviews. No targets. No career ladder. No need to prove that every hour has been well spent.

And yet many of us carry the habit of productivity straight into retirement. We create lists. We set goals. We look for meaningful activities. We try to use our time well. Even our hobbies can start to feel suspiciously like work. We take up painting and immediately wonder whether we are any good at it. We start gardening and decide the garden needs a five-year development plan. We begin learning a language and feel guilty when we haven't practised. We try a craft and suddenly find ourselves watching tutorials about how to turn it into a small business.

Apparently, it is not enough to enjoy making a slightly wonky ceramic bowl. We must monetise the bowl.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to improve at something. Learning and achievement can be enormously satisfying. But there is also something wonderfully freeing about being a complete beginner at something you have absolutely no intention of mastering.

You are allowed to be bad at things

This may be one of the great overlooked freedoms of later life. You can do something badly. You can sing out of tune. Paint a terrible picture. Grow a tomato that costs approximately $47 once you take into account the pot, compost, fertiliser and elaborate support structure you bought for it.

You can dance with no rhythm. Take blurry photographs. Bake a cake that leans slightly to the left.

You don't have to improve. You don't have to show anyone. You don't have to turn it into anything. You can simply enjoy yourself.

There is enormous pleasure in removing the expectation that we must be good at the things we do. Sometimes being hopeless at something is half the fun.

What did you enjoy before you became sensible?

Think back for a moment. What did you once do purely because you liked it? Perhaps you used to dance around the kitchen. Draw. Sing. Play cards. Ride a bike. Make things. Paddle in the sea. Do jigsaws. Go bowling. Dress up. Play music. Bake elaborate cakes for no particular reason. Read novels until far too late at night.

There may be things you quietly stopped doing because life became busy. Or because nobody else wanted to do them. Or because you decided you were too old. Or perhaps because, somewhere along the way, you simply forgot that you liked them.

Not everything we enjoyed when we were younger will still appeal to us now. I have no particular desire to revisit every activity I enjoyed at twelve. But sometimes our younger selves can remind us of a part of us that became buried under responsibility.

The part that knew how to play.

Fun doesn't have to be impressive

We can also make the mistake of thinking that having fun needs to involve an event. A party. A holiday. A big day out.

But some of the best fun is very small. Putting music on while you cook and dancing when nobody is watching. Trying to paint something. Playing a ridiculous board game. Going on the swings when there are no children waiting. Singing loudly in the car. Buying yourself an ice cream. Trying something you've never done before. Watching a film you know is objectively terrible and enjoying every minute of it. Having a conversation that descends into helpless laughter.

These moments may not look particularly significant from the outside. But a life with more of them in it feels different.

Who decided you were too old?

There is a strange moment in adulthood when we begin to police ourselves. Isn't that a bit silly? I'm probably too old for that. What would people think?

Usually, people are far too busy worrying about what we think of them to give our behaviour much consideration. And if someone does think you're too old to dance, learn the ukulele, wear something bright, go roller skating or laugh far too loudly with your friends, that seems rather more their problem than yours.

Retirement doesn't have to be the stage of life when we become increasingly sensible. Perhaps it can be the stage when we become a little less so. We've spent decades being responsible. We have paid bills. Met deadlines. Remembered birthdays. Kept appointments. Raised families. Worked. Coped. Organised.

Surely we have earned the right to be slightly ridiculous occasionally?

Try something with absolutely no outcome in mind

What would it feel like to do something without needing it to lead anywhere? Not because it will improve you. Not because it is good for you. Not because you can add it to your list of achievements. Simply because you think you might enjoy it.

Perhaps you could revisit something you once loved. Perhaps you could try something you've always secretly fancied. Or perhaps you could just give yourself permission to waste an afternoon.

Although I suspect that an afternoon spent laughing, playing, creating or becoming completely absorbed in something you enjoy is not wasted at all.

Fun is not frivolous

There is a serious point hidden underneath all this talk of wonky pottery and expensive tomatoes. Joy matters. Playfulness matters. Laughter matters. They are not rewards we earn after we have completed all the useful things. They are part of a good life.

And perhaps retirement gives us an opportunity to remember that.

We don't have to make every day meaningful.

We don't have to continually improve ourselves.

We don't have to emerge from retirement as the most productive, well-rounded and thoroughly optimised versions of ourselves. Sometimes it is enough to have had a lovely time.

A little something to think about

What would you do if you didn't have to be good at it, productive or sensible?

Think of one thing you could do this week for no other reason than it sounds like fun.

Then do it. Badly, if necessary.

And enjoy every minute.