Often my husband will say to me, “we can be awfully serious,” and we’ll nod gravely at each other about this undeniable fact, and continue our serious conversation.
It’s true. We spend a lot of time being serious. I spend a LOT of time being serious.
I can identify a couple of old, ingrained narratives that probably contribute to this reality, like “I have to do everything right,” and “if my life’s not hard, it doesn’t count.”
So right off the bat stories like that don’t leave a lot of space for lightheartedness, but also in recent years I’ve been confronting those stories and really duking it out with them, and bruh that is hard work and I’ve taken it… seriously.
But a different part of me also exists, and that part is quirky and hilarious and her favorite thing is encountering the absurd and laughing until she sore-throat sobs as if her best friend has just died.
Example:
About a million years ago I decided to start a tumblr. I don’t know why. I never browsed it, never posted anything on it, never got any notifications. I just set it up and then *crickets.* You can maybe imagine my slight shock when one day I received an email from tumblr that said “Congratulations! Your tumblr is three years old today!” And so my bemused husband found my largely pregnant self: with tears streaming freely down my face, so completely weak with laughter at this absolute non sequitur of a congratulatory message that I had succumbed to gravity. And maybe it’s not even that funny? Maybe it was just the hormones? It doesn’t matter. Being that surprised and delighted by nonsense is an exquisite state of being.
This week, however, has been an intense spell of seriousness: 6,000 meetings in a three day span, launching a business, not knowing how to do anything but flail on social media platforms, having to make dinner… But lately an idea has been growing on me, and I’ve found myself adopting it, even during this frenetic week – the idea of choosing your own adventure.
First of all, adventure is my middle name. Second, when I frame my life and my efforts and my interests as “adventures,” somehow the build-up of pressure is released. Having to do everything perfectly from the outset suddenly doesn’t seem necessary. The word “failure” takes its own hike in a completely different direction. I feel the freedom to notice things, try things, and enjoy myself.
I tend to have a pretty strong, internal knowing of what my destination is, but true to my directionally-challenged self, I seriously struggle with knowing what steps are going to get me there. Obviously my old stories mentioned above are no help in this. They don’t give me directions, they just give me anxiety.
But what if the way to my destination is a trail of pebbles that I recognize as part of my path because they inspire me, ignite my joy, make me laugh, and make me curious? What if all the small adventures of my life serve to create the greater adventure, but I don’t have to be so serious about them, or interrogate them under a spotlight and make them prove that they’re difficult enough to “count?”
What if I removed the judgment and just allowed myself to be – allowed myself to receive all the absurd, hilarious, fascinating, unusual, valuable easter eggs that have been hidden along the trail just for me to find? What if I got to appreciate the adventure of every other traveler I met, without having to apply my old stories to them, either?
That sounds amazing, sign me up.
*Convo between my husband and I at this very spot on the mountain, where things finally got interesting enough for me:
Me: “Look at this trail! It’s amazing!”
Ben: “Well, but how much longer do you think it’s going to take? Remember we have to come all the way back down.”
Me: “I know. I’m committed.”
Ben: “I might commit you.”
But we gained the summit!