The 3 Commandments of Full Fat Fun
Q: What am I bad at?
A: Following my own advice.
For example, I keep a checklist of the simple and mostly free things I’ve learned (some, the hard way, multiple times) to incorporate into each day to make me feel happier.
And as much as I value feeling joyful, alive, and engaged; do I do those things every day?
Like a dentist who doesn’t brush her own teeth, the answer, my friends, is no.
I am good at doing the things on my list that require discipline: going to bed at 9 p.m., getting up early, meditating, writing in my journal, exercising, and doing satisfying work. Sticking to those routines makes me feel accomplished, and I’m rewarded with tangible results.
While taking breaks, having fun, and prioritizing time with friends are the stuff of a well-lived, joyful life, it’s easy for me to go for long periods without making time for them. And I know why: spending time being silly, gadding about with friends, and having fun simply for the sake of it feels like kids’ stuff, and not a good use of time for a serious grown-up adult and mother.
For me, “doing hard things” means taking a break from work, and prioritizing friends, play, and laughter. And so, as I prepare to turn 50 at the end of August, I’m challenging myself to follow my own advice and make more time for life-affirming, non-productive, good old-fashioned fun.
But what is fun, now that I’m indisputably an adult?
I’ve been conditioned to believe that normal (ahem, fully dressed) adult fun takes place at dinners and cocktail parties, where people look and behave appropriately, make polite chit-chat, eat, drink, and then go home.
That kind of fun feels like the reduced-fat version of the total delight I remember experiencing as a little girl at birthday parties which were packed with entertainment, games, and special treats. It’s a watered-down version of the fun I had in my twenties when my free time was spent dancing and singing with abandon at parties or bars with friends, or laughing until we cried while recounting embarrassing things we’d said or done, while watching terrible movies. Back then, we regularly threw parties with ridiculous themes (“come as your grandma!”) as an excuse to put on silly costumes.
Having fun produces absolutely nothing productive, just a sense of gleeful exhilaration and memories so vivid they can summon good feelings for years: the kind of feelings and memories I want to continue having, no matter how old I am.
As I’ve thought more about my lack-of-fun dilemma, I’ve discovered three key ingredients that unlock my ability to have fun:
The right people;
A sense of spaciousness that allows me to disconnect from my everyday adult obligations; and
No phone.
Sure, I enjoy belting out the words to Blame it on the Boogie when I’m alone in my car, but it’s not nearly as fun as singing and dancing along with good friends who aren’t judging my terrible moves. To feel truly exhilarated and in the moment, I need my phone set to silent and out of sight so that I can be blissfully ignorant of incoming messages, upcoming deadlines, or depressing headlines.
As a reminder to take my own advice and because I am hopelessly Type A, I’ve made a list of the things that bring me the feelings I want more of: aching lips from maniacally smiling, belly cramps from laughing hard and long, a scratchy throat from sing-screaming with gusto, and tired, blistered feet from dancing.
My Full Fat Fun List
Sing and dance with joyful abandon to my favorite music (the sounds of my youth: 70s, 80s, and 90s pop anthems) in the company of good (supportive!) friends. Just like Paul Rudd.
Play games: put everything I have into chasing a ball or engaging in a board or parlor game, and revel in good-natured trash-talk with people who value competing hard while being good sports.
Splash around in a pool or ocean with my kids, just like they do!
Dress silly: put on a funny hat, wig, or costume to make people (and myself) laugh. Stop trying so hard to look “appropriate” all the time. Just like Paul Rudd.
Add more pizzazz to grown-up get-togethers: designate a theme (ugly holiday sweaters, crazy wigs, come as a grandma?!), swallow my pride and tell a bad joke, set up a fun game, or invite people over to watch a funny (or so bad it’s hilarious) movie.