Here's to Fun

Tyler, the Toothless Wonder. He's lost three teeth in the last week. I told him it was thanks to all his Halloween candy. Here he is at the zoo, in spontaneous pursuit of a peacock with sidekick Kurt.

​As for giving thanks, the first thing that comes to mind is: I’m grateful that it’s not last year.
 
As the late Queen Elizabeth would say, last year was my “annus horribilis.” It was losing our sweet dog of 15 years, holding deathbed vigils for both parents, losing a dear cousin to suicide, all while stressing out over finances.  This last factor is insidious. It’s nothing compared to the final mist of death, but it is a depleting way to live: always trying to figure out, while raising three children, “Do we really need this? Can we make do without it? How will we pay the mortgage this month?”
 
As of a few precious weeks (not quite a month), Jory is (finally) gainfully employed. I am loving a slew of part-time jobs, which both delight me and pay for our eldest’s private education.
 
We can exhale. After years of living in survival mode, I gravitate to a book about fun because I have become estranged from it: I mean, what really is it? How does one cultivate it?

In her book The Power of Fun author Catherine Price writes, “There are many situations that make it difficult, if not impossible, to focus on fun, such as poverty, sickness, abuse, trauma, and job insecurity.” Our meager earnings actually had us in the poverty tax bracket last year, so I’d check three of those five boxes. In a world that worships fun, not being in a space to pursue it only made us feel more isolated. In addition, as this book argues, “fun” is wildly overused, which should make us all feel better. People say “it was fun” out of habit, with no mindfulness attached or awareness of what fun really is.
 
I’m sharing all of this because I know many of you reading this are having a horrible year of sorts, if not your epic “annus horribilis”. For some, there's a new empty seat at the Thanksgiving table, or it's not being able to afford the fixings this year, or it's a family member is battling mental illness, or terrified about college applications, or it's nursing an elderly parent, or facing your own health crisis. I see you. Your year bites, and, going into the holidays, it’s OK to call a spade a spade and acknowledge that you are in survival mode. Later, fun will seep back into your life, just not now. Hold out the space that you are not alone and that it will get better. Not perfect, but better.
 
I’ve had to share this with both daughters a lot lately, along with modeling: “Don’t lose the lesson from your hard times. Let them mold you into a better person.”
 
For, while our eldest is excelling academically in her dream school, she often comes home and throws herself on her bed, sobbing. While outright bullying is verboten, its insidious cousin, indifference, thrives in today's middle school. Indifference is the new put down. My daughter says she feels invisible as she tries to make conversation on the long walk from dance class to English because no one responds to her efforts at conversation. She sat down at a table in science only to be told that the spot was saved for someone else, so she had to sit alone during class. We urge her to make more effort, so over a period of weeks, she gives out my number to four people for hang time, and not one reaches out. She also meets her goal one Monday to ask five people how their weekend was, but no one reciprocates to ask about hers.
 
The first thing we do, of course, is pull out the mirror: why is she not connecting? Remembering how shallow middle school can be, we play Eliza Doolittle with her: change up her wardrobe, her hair style.
 
But our second daughter who has a kickass sense of fashion, is having an even tougher go (what the hell, Universe?) Four girls told her during four-square last week that, “Nobody likes you.” (Am I raising my kids to be misfits?)
 
In fairness, I have spent time with the kids in her class, and my daughter doesn’t fit in. Simply put: It’s not her tribe. I keep telling her to wait for middle school, but then I see her older sister and think, “Yeah, I should just shut up.”
 
While this understandably feels traumatic to both girls, I think we need to inject more fun into our family (now that we can). True fun (according to Price, who spent a few years researching it) is actually a combination of three things: 1) playfulness 2) connection and 3) flow.
 
(Much to my kid’s dismay and disagreement, true fun is not passively watching TV or movies, or numbing out on their devices.)
 
Fun begins with a mindset, and is characterized by spontaneity, silliness, vulnerability, imagination, positivity and laughter. Initially, it is often a decision of mindfulness. Price says it is helpful to ask, “How could I add a bit of playfulness, connection or flow to this moment right now?” At night, to get more into the habit of injecting fun into your day, ask, "When did I add playfulness, connection and flow to my day, despite the stress?" Make efforts to connect with people who bring out your playfulness, connectivity and flow. My monthly zoom with my Amherst classmates is spot on here, as are the friends with whom we shared our Thanksgiving dinner.
 
I know some reading think I have earned a new medal in geekdom. I mean, who needs to *learn* about fun??

After the immense grief of loss, and gnawing fear of scarcity, the disappointment of failures and despair that blankets it all, the answer is: me. And if you’re honest, it’s you. How are we supposed to know how to have fun when we feel continually stressed and judged? (That question was from my daughters). We learn despite it all.

​This Thanksgiving, I am grateful to be on the high crest of a wave, knowing more lows will come, along with more highs. I was not equipped to face last year, yet here I am, grateful and becoming reacquainted with fun.