Playing for Keeps

When it comes to this whole "living life" thing, I think I actually forget more than I learn each day. And the thing I forget more often than anything else is this:  when it comes to how I spend each day and choose each little choice - I matter. My actual ideas, my likes and dislikes, "all that jazz" that lives in my own two jazz hands; it should all have an awful lot more to do with my every day than it actually does. I should matter more to me.

I'm reading another Brené Brown book - The Gifts of Imperfection - and today it reminded me to notice the things that I like to do to "play." Play time is that time when the world all at once gets wide and narrow. Wide because the possibilities are endless, but narrow in how the rest of the world just disappears.

Playful colors make a happy Katy!

My play time last night was coloring in a book I bought from the local art store. Tonight it was to start reading a new book, something fluffy, full of magic, fairies, and ominous evil forces. It has no purpose but to help me get away for a bit - the only point is enjoyment.

But tonight something happened when I set my book aside. I cleaned my desk. This is a Big Deal. Like winning a medium-sized lottery big deal. And it's the part I always forget. When I spend time in restful play, I always -- always, every single time -- come out of it with a desire to do something good for myself. I have sudden motivation where there wasn't any before. Even this writing is coming from that place of new energy.

I've really thought about this pattern, because it still surprises me even though it happens every single time. I think what happens in my sub or semiconscious self is this:  when I celebrate something just for the sake of my own enjoyment, I accept for a moment the reality that I'm worthy of joy. And I feel motivated out of that joy. I want my future self to have that joy too, so I clean or organize or do whatever it was that I was putting off.

But why don't I do this all the time?!

This pattern is so easily repeatable (I say again: it happens every - single - time) yet I continue to forget and go back to the exhausting habit of procrastination and blame and negative self-talk. A big part of the problem is simply an unrested brain. And an unrested brain is a foggy brain. The longer I go between playful times, the more taxed my brain is; there's never time to recharge. (Also, I tend to eat a lot of fast foods and caffeine, which I also thinks adds to a foggy brain.)

When I'm brain-tired, the tempting thing is to follow the path of least resistance. If a TV show will play a story for me, why read and bother my brain with the task of imagination. Why sit at the table and create a drawing on paper when I could just watch a YouTube clip of someone else doing it. (Or even more tempting/demoralizing is the self talk that says those creative things are a waste of time.) Why bother writing if someone else has already said it, and probably better than I would.

But as it turns out, that is all a bunch of balderdash! (That's right - balderdash!) When I'm brain-tired, it's because the world's been taking pieces out (or I've given them) and I haven't been putting anything back in.

Doing creative, playful things that I enjoy is not about healing what is broken in me. It's not about having done something wrong and now needing a break from reality. Instead, this kind of play and creativity is the only thing that I can count on to get me to do my best work, to treat myself well, to live my most "wholehearted" life, as Brené Brown would say.

Play and creativity, in whatever form it takes, isn't my response to stress or frustration or depression; it's my shield, the glue I can count on to keep me whole despite hard times and dark days. Let's keep ourselves from forgetting. Let's help each other create and celebrate, and stay stuck together with the goodness of play! 

How do you make time for creativity and playfulness? Post a reply below!

Truth Is (or Lessons from a Funeral)

It’s just that I’ve been a little afraid. Afraid to break into the darkness of the silent space; afraid to be transparent. But I’m also afraid to stay quiet, afraid to keep everything locked. This is my first crack of light in a long time; patience is appreciated.

There was a funeral today. And I did my job; I was responsible, professional. But on the inside, I wasn’t feeling patient or kind or forgiving. I was feeling weary. I was feeling empty.

There was a funeral today. And I sang the song they asked for.

“Truth is I’m tired.
Options are few.
I'm trying to pray,
But where are you?
I'm all churched out,
Hurt and abused.
I can't fake…
What's left to do?”

There was a funeral today.

I wish I had a good answer when people ask me how I’m doing. I wish I didn’t have these seasons of grief and uncertainty. I wish I made all the right decisions, all the time. I wish, sometimes, that I didn’t feel pain in the ways I feel it. Or didn’t carry other people’s pain quite so closely to my own heart. It feels jagged, it cuts, it hurts.

But then there was this funeral, and they asked me to sing that song.

“Truth is it's time
To stop playing these games.
We need a word
For the people's pain.
 So Lord speak right now.
Let it fall like rain.
We're desperate.
We're chasing after you.”

When did I stop chasing? When did I stop listening and learning and loving with an honest heart? An open heart? When did I start accepting silence – expecting silence?

This was a hard season. Harder than I expected; harder than I think I even knew. Slowly, bit by bit, I numbed it. I denied my grief or hurt or disappointment. I deflected, evaded, isolated. But my bones felt it. Can you see? My bones felt it; that aching in joints that yearn for peace, for rest – for real rest.

Then today brought fresh tears, new heartbreak. And I can’t keep silent… but I have no words. Maybe just that tune, a song to ride the winds of change and grief and time.

And so there will be another funeral. For a friend who believed in me, in all of us. One who saw it all, pain and peace and grief, but didn’t keep silent. And I will miss him. The fire will be cooler without him, but the call was stronger because of him. And the song will forever speak deeply of this season.

“Take me to the King.
I don’t have much to bring.
My heart is torn to pieces,
It’s my offering.
 Lay me at the throne.
Leave me there alone
To gaze upon Your glory,
And sing to You this song.”

My love & gratitude rest with you friend.