A personal reflection on play, resilience and seeing the world through a child’s eyes
My kids think I have the best job in the world. Designing playgrounds? And they get to be the first to play on them? Are you kidding?
Seeing the excitement in their eyes, it’s hard not get to get caught up in the spectacle of it all — the massive slides, zooming ziplines and towering lookouts.
But here’s the truth.
As playspace designers, we don’t actually design play. We design opportunities for play. Opportunities that children take hold of. Invitations for them to choose what happens next. This unstructured play ethos is self-directed by children’s own curiosity and imagination.
Unstructured Play as a Design Ethos
In practice, unstructured play isn’t a feature you can point to on a plan. It’s something that only becomes visible when you step back and observe. Not as a designer, but through the eyes of a child. Stepping into their world, without preconception or expectation.
What you find, might surprise you.
Because no two children ever experience a playspace in the same way. A toddler, who sees only what’s within their immediate eye line, experiences a completely different world to a primary school aged child — even when they’re standing in exactly the same spot. And even the same child, on a different day, will have a completely new and unique experience.
So, while design intent and the invitation for play does not change, the outcomes of a space are always different, shaped by the child in the moment and within the context in which they arrive.
When Theory Becomes Practice
Visiting Flindersia Riverside Park with my kids for the first-time was an incredible experience.
Alongside our design team, we’d been working through concepts for a few years, refining the final outcomes through COVID, waiting on funding and delivering in an uncertain construction environment.
My kids had seen the concept renders on my computer screen and even added their ideas on what they wanted to see and do. But nothing really prepares you for the scale of a space like this until you experience it in real life.
What I thought they would immediately race to (the quickest path to the top of the tower to race down the epic slide) wasn’t the thing my son was called to. Instead, he was drawn to a set of dangling rubber pommels. He decided that this was how he was going to get to the tower.
A New Perspective
My son doesn’t perceive challenge in the same way his siblings do. They see it as something positive to persist with, work through and push past, because the reward (reaching the next level) is in the achievement of overcoming something difficult. For him, challenge is different. When success isn’t immediate, it feels confronting. In those moments he is more likely to hesitate or step back rather than push forward.
So, you can imagine my surprise when he chose what was, at first glance, one of the most physically challenging ways up.
He mastered the first pommel easily, but the second stopped him. He dropped to the ground.
He paused, looked up and tried again.
This time he made it further, reaching the third pommel. But again, got stuck.
He tried again. And again. Each time adjusting slightly, working it out in small increments. Coming back down to rest and reset, then going back in.
If you haven’t tried them, these rubber pommels are deceptively difficult. They rotate freely, and because they’re tethered top and bottom, every movement creates an opposing one. Even the slightest shift will test your balance. They require mindful core activation, controlled upper body strength and good coordination to navigate.
Normally, he would have given up after the first attempt. But this time, he didn’t.
There was something about this challenge — about this specific path— that kept drawing him in.
Then, after about ten minutes of attempts, setbacks and finding the courage to try again, something clicked.
The look on his face said it all.
“Mum, I made it!”
He had reached the pinnacle, which looking up from the ground level had seemed insurmountable. His sense of accomplishment, the understanding that he can do hard things, is something that he carried with him for several days. The simplest thing made such an impact.
Meanwhile, his little sister had found the basket swing and met and co-opted some new friends to push her until they were too tired to continue…
The Outcomes You Can’t Specify
Would the procurement officer have seen this outcome when they saw rubber pommels on the features list? Would it have been the feature that stood out to a landscape architect when they were presented with ten different proposals, each telling a different design narrative?
Probably not.
But it mattered to the designer who saw its potential for play within the broader environment. It mattered to my son, when he reached his goal through effort and resilience. And it will matter to the community who will use and visit this place across the next generation.
Final Thoughts
One thing I’ve learned — through experience, parenting and research — is that resilience is not a switch you turn on and off. Nor is it a one-and-done kind of thing, where you undertake a single activity, have a good mentor or teacher and then suddenly become resilient.
It’s built through small moments that test you, supported by people around you and shaped through repeated self-discovery. But beyond this, it’s shaped by the drive to create the best outcomes, to do better and to be better.
As designers, we operate within a stringent compliance framework — from AS4685:2021 (the Australian Playground Standard) to public and product liability insurance, professional indemnity and broader perceptions of risk management in the public realm. There are so many layers of oversight that shape how playspaces are designed, assessed and delivered.
Unfortunately, in that process, some of the most valuable qualities of a space — the open-ended, unstructured opportunities that don’t score highly in ‘play value’ — can become harder to recognise, prioritise or protect.
So, the question becomes: how do we design for and protect the outcomes that can only ever be understood once a child is in the space?
Because what gets measured at the point of specification and procurement is:
- a line item on a features list,
- product dimensions, heights and compliance data attached, and
- a simplified play value rating based on function (e.g. climb, balance, swing).
But none of these describe outcomes. They can’t. Until the space is used.
Where an adult sees six rubber pommels, a child experiences:
- uncertainty that builds courage
- frustration that prompts a different approach
- learning how to respond to feedback from their own body
- the power of making a small change
- that failure isn’t bad; it’s just a sign to try something different
- recognising that persistence leads to progress
- strengthening resilience through continued effort
- building confidence through incremental progress
- a growing belief in their own capability and self-worth.
Add a child’s wonder and imagination and the possibilities are endless.
Want to learn more?
Third Place Design creates community spaces that blur the lines between art, landscape and recreation. Discover the principles that guide our design philosophy, stories from recent projects and a look at how we support our partners from early visioning through to delivery.
Dani Eastwood
Dani Eastwood is Head of Brand for Third Place Design. She works with councils, landscape architects and developers to create bold, bespoke play environments.
With 15+ years’ experience in business development, brand strategy and project delivery, she blends strategic thinking with a passion for nature-inspired, unstructured play—helping shape some of Australia’s most iconic adventure destinations.