Bernard O'Shea: Five Zen insights I learned from playing with Lego

Who knew that little plastic bricks would lead me down an unexpected path to mindfulness, one brick at a time?

Bernard O'Shea, comedian

Let me start by saying this: meditating is hard.

Sitting still, focusing on my breath, and trying to quiet my mind feels like asking my children to eat a vegetable that isn’t covered in Nutella.

It just doesn’t do anything for my sugared-up puppy brain. 

So, when we got Lego for the children at Christmas — a wholesome Santa-approved gift — I didn’t want to stumble upon a new form of mindfulness. 

In fact, I was just trying to avoid another round of ‘Can we get an Xbox?’

But somewhere between snapping bricks together and the children deciding that the outdoors were more fun than building a Lego castle, I found my own form of zen. 

That is, until my middle fella declared, “Mum, don’t let Dad finish my Lego.”

Lego provided a much-needed sensation for me this Christmas: Focused calm. 

The click of each brick fitting into place was oddly satisfying, like a tiny dopamine hit. 

Move over mindfulness apps: I’ve found my plastic-brick nirvana.

Lego has been around since 1932, when Danish carpenter Ole Kirk Christiansen decided to make toys instead of ironing boards. 

It has inspired movies, theme parks, and adult-only sets. 

And let’s not forget the universal trauma of stepping on a stray Lego piece, a rite of passage for parents everywhere.

The genius of Lego lies in its versatility. It’s both a tool for creative expression and a trap for perfectionists. 

One minute, you’re at Hogwarts with your children; the next, you’re up at 3am, Googling ‘How to find missing Lego pieces without losing your mind.’

There’s science behind why playing with Lego is good for you. It improves spatial awareness, problem-solving skills, and fine motor co-ordination. 

For children, it’s like broccoli in their diet. For adults, it’s stress relief.

Lego’s pivot to adult-focused sets — think intricate models of the Titanic or the Colosseum— is brilliant. 

And, honestly, who doesn’t need a mental break from doom-scrolling social media?

Here’s five zen concepts I learned from playing with Lego.

Focusing on the Present: 

Lego demands your attention. 

Unlike scrolling on your phone or watching Netflix, building with Lego requires you to fully engage. 

This can be incredibly grounding, pulling you out of the endless swirl of to-do lists and worries. 

By focusing on the present, you’re sourcing mindfulness: One brick at a time.

Embrace Imperfection: 

Life is messy, and so is building Lego. 

You’ll probably lose a piece or put one in the wrong spot and then spend 20 minutes convincing yourself that ‘it’s grand. Sure, they probably meant it to look a bit wonky.’ 

Can’t find that crucial roof tile? Slap a door on top and call it modern architecture. 

For adults, this is gold. Perfection is indeed overrated, and problem-solving is where the magic happens. 

Besides, isn’t it kind of freeing to know that your Lego house — and your life — can still stand, even if the foundation’s wobbly? Isn’t it? 

Seriously, I’m actually waiting for an answer here???

Patience is Key: 

Some Lego sets have thousands of pieces and can take hours, or even days, to complete. 

For adults, this can be a refreshing change from the instant gratification of modern life. 

Building Lego teaches patience — a reminder that good things often take time, whether it’s its goal, a relationship, or a really, really, really complicated Star Wars spaceship. (My wife shouts in the background, “IT’S FOR AGE 8 PLUS, BERNARD!!!”)

Celebrate Small Wins: 

Completing even a small section of a Lego set can feel like a triumph. These little victories can boost your mood and give you a sense of accomplishment. 

Celebrating the small stuff — a built Lego section or a day without forgetting where you parked your car in Dunne’s — can be advantageous.

Find Joy in Creation: 

As adults, we often lose touch with the simple joy of making something with our hands. Lego brings that joy back. 

Whether you’ve a replica of the Eiffel Tower or a random object from your imagination, creation is satisfying. 

On the other hand, trying to convince an eight-year-old boy that a Star Wars spaceship could have a balcony is what could be called ‘creative differences’.

So, forget meditating. Grab a box of Lego and let yourself build your way to mindfulness. 

Just watch out for stray pieces: They’re a pain in the foot.