Play has always been my language.
Before I knew anything else, play was how I understood the world. It was in the waters I worked at as a lifeguard and swim instructor. It was on the green patches in the Dominican Republic we called the baseball field, where the game wasn’t just a pastime, it was culture, connection, it was our identity. Play was how I made friends and how I bonded with family.
In 2007, everything changed.
I had just turned 18 when I sustained a spinal cord injury that led to a 10-month stay at Rusk rehabilitation in NYU.
There, Project Sunshine volunteers started showing up at my door each week asking if I wanted to “come play,” but I was shut off. I felt too old to play and felt angry about my injury.
But they kept coming back. And one day, something shifted.
Instead of inviting me to play, they said, “How about we just hang out.” No pressure. No expectations. Just conversation. One volunteer started talking about travel, showing me photos of places they’d been. For the first time in a long time, I felt my guard drop. Just a little.
That moment cracked something open.
I started going to the playroom with them. At first, just to get out of my room. But then something unexpected happened. I started engaging. Volunteers saw that I had a way of connecting with the younger kids.
We played Uno. We played Wii Sports. We had wheelchair races up and down the hall. It was pure chaos, pure joy. In those moments, I wasn’t defined by my injury. I was just a kid having fun.
My biggest shift was realizing that I could actually help others. That I had something to contribute. I had a way with the younger kids. I could make them laugh, distract them, get them out of their heads the same way play had done for me. And when I saw that impact I felt like Superman without a cape.
I wasn’t just a patient anymore. I was a peer advocate.
There was this one time I even led a mini “escape.” Two of us rolled down to the basement to hang out with some of the medical students and play games. Today it sounds small, but it wasn’t then. In a place where so much of your life is monitored, controlled, that moment of freedom, of choosing fun, meant everything.
Play gave us control.
Play gave us agency.
Play gave us back a piece of ourselves.
I think I fully understood how transformative Project Sunshine was for me when they successfully helped me apply to college at NYU. We then celebrated my 19th birthday party in the same playroom they hosted game nights. We celebrated with staff, volunteers, and a bunch of 7- and 8-year-olds who I suddenly realized were looking up to me.
That’s when it clicked: this wasn’t just something I participated in. It was part of who I had become.
Almost 20 years later, I still carry those relationships with me. And looking back, I see how all that play was medicine. I just didn’t know then how badly I needed it.
After I left the hospital, things weren’t easy. Staying social and playful felt harder in the “real world.” But there was a void, and once I named it, I knew how to fill it: I needed to get back to the playroom. I needed to give back. I needed play in my life, not just for me, but for others.
Today, my favorite way to play is in the water. Swimming makes me weightless and absolutely free. Free to move in ways I can’t anywhere else. It’s where I can be silly, explore my physical abilities, and connect—not just with myself and others, but with life itself.
At work and in life, play is still my go-to. It’s how I build connections. It’s an energy, an ethos. As adults we become too rigid. Too structured. Too serious.
But play is about imperfection. It’s about letting go of control just enough to feel alive again.
If I could prescribe play to anyone, it would be this: Get out of yourself. Go volunteer. Connect with others. You’ll get back so much more than you give.
And don’t underestimate the power of something as simple as play. Because sometimes, it doesn’t just help you heal, it helps you become someone who helps others heal too.
You can support Q's personal Play-A-Thon fundraiser by donating to his page!
Join Project Sunshine in celebrating the healing power of play this year. Create your own Summer Solstice Play-A-Thon fundraising page and celebrate the loooooooongest day of play with us on June 21.
Every $15 = one hour of play for a child with medical challenges.