When people ask what I do to relax, I usually get a few surprised looks when I tell them I play card games with friends and visit museums—like, on purpose, for fun. I guess it sounds a little old-school, maybe even boring, especially for someone fresh out of nursing school. But the truth is, these simple things have helped shape the kind of nurse I’m becoming. They remind me how to slow down, pay attention, connect with people, and stay curious about the world. And honestly, that’s what nursing is all about.

The Rhythm of the Game

I’ve been playing cards with the same group of friends for years now. Nothing fancy—mostly Uno with all the extra rules (yes, even 7’s and 0’s), and occasionally B.S. or spoons. It’s a tradition that’s stuck through school, jobs, stress, and growing up. And while it started as a way to hang out and blow off steam, I’ve realized that these games have also taught me a lot about presence, patience, and people.

In nursing, everything moves fast. Your brain is juggling vitals, meds, documentation, and the emotional weight of whatever your patients are going through. It’s easy to get caught in the rush. But card games? They’re all about rhythm. You have to wait your turn. You have to read the room, anticipate moves, stay in the moment. There’s a kind of focus to it, and a quiet strategy that isn’t unlike the thinking I do when assessing a patient or planning the next few hours of care.

Playing cards has also sharpened my ability to connect. You learn a lot about people when you’re sitting across from them at a table, watching their tells, listening to their stories between rounds. That kind of attention—really seeing people, not just reacting to them—is exactly what I try to bring into my nursing practice. Whether I’m managing a wound dressing or just offering someone a warm blanket, I want the person in front of me to feel like they’re not just another task in my shift—they’re being seen.

Museums and Mindfulness

My love for museums started on family trips. My parents would always make time for a museum wherever we went, whether it was a major city or a quiet town with a historical society tucked away on Main Street. At first, I liked them because I loved art in and of itself—taking in the way some paintings seem to be lit from within, the textures of sculpture, the details in ancient tools. But over time, I started to appreciate museums for the space they created in my head. Museums force you to slow down. They ask you to look closer, read a little deeper, think about someone else’s experience.

That mindset has become essential to how I move through nursing. Every patient has a story that didn’t start with me and won’t end when my shift is over. Every person I care for is part of a bigger picture—of their family, their culture, their history. Visiting museums reminds me that time isn’t just about now. It stretches backward and forward. And when I bring that sense of context into the hospital, it helps me be a more empathetic, thoughtful caregiver.

I also think a lot about how museums hold both beauty and suffering at the same time. You’ll see a breathtaking work of ecstasy in one room, and an exhibit about war or illness in the next. That duality—the ability to sit with both joy and pain—is something I rely on constantly as a nurse. Some moments on the job are hopeful and sweet. Others are heavy. Sometimes they happen within five minutes of each other. Being able to handle that emotional contrast, without shutting down or becoming numb, is a skill I’m always working on. And museums, oddly enough, helped me get started.

Finding the Human Thread

Both card games and museum visits give me space to reconnect with the parts of life that are easy to miss when you’re just trying to survive a busy shift. They keep me grounded in the human part of nursing—the part that goes beyond charts and call lights and shift reports. They remind me that every patient is more than a diagnosis. They have stories, habits, favorite games, and things they miss doing.

One patient I cared for loved crossword puzzles. Another used to be an artist but hadn’t drawn in years. I think part of why I noticed those things—why I asked the questions in the first place—was because I’m used to being curious. I like hearing people’s stories. And I’m not afraid of silence or stillness, which are things you get comfortable with when you’re wandering through galleries or waiting on a friend to play their hand.

A Different Kind of Strength

There’s a lot of talk in nursing about grit, resilience, and toughness. And yes, we need all of those things. But there’s another kind of strength that doesn’t get talked about as much—the strength of staying soft. Of being present. Of slowing down, even when everything around you feels like it’s speeding up.

For me, that strength gets renewed at the card table, where I laugh with my friends and enjoy the small rituals we’ve built over time. It gets renewed in the quiet corners of a museum, where I look at something old and beautiful and feel connected to the world beyond myself.

I might be a new grad, but I know these habits make me a better nurse. They remind me who I am outside of scrubs, and they help me bring more humanity into the work I do every day. Maybe it makes me an old soul—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.