What does fun have to do with living a sparkly life?
Fun isn’t serious. It doesn’t have a purpose, like, say, me going out after a storm to clean up downed fir branches. In my lexicon, fun doesn’t mean spending money or going on trips. At the moment, fun for me has to be created on my own. It’s more about creating blips of enjoyment, semi-precious stones strung like beads in time. I don’t say this is easy. I’m often humbled by watching the big challenges my family and friends face and by their dignity and courage.
A friend once said to me she didn’t like spending time with herself. That made me blink. I am the person I spend 24/7 with; if I don’t enjoy my own company, how can I expect anyone else to? I own it: I laugh at something ridiculous I’ve just said or done, multiple times a day. It’s the same friendly way I may laugh at something Kira-dog is doing.
I aim to create small bubbles of happiness that constitute fun. The alternative can be to slide into feeling gluey and lonely. I tell myself that living alone is not the same thing as being lonely; I don’t need to conflate the two. Wasn’t it the Borg who said, “This does not compute?” I can choose to be sparkly.
I have difficulty not burying myself in endless work. Writing is fun except it is also my profession, so sorting that out can get interesting. My daughter, bless her heart, has been telling me for years that the idea of being perpetually productive is the none-too-healthy product of capitalism.
I raise my hand. I was brought up on the notion that working harder than the next person accrued virtue. It could have come from my mom working her socks off to bring up four kids as a single parent. Equally, my tendency toward never-ending purposeful motion could have come from being a woman commercial fisher back in the day when most of the guys thought females in the fleet were an aberration.
“Take a day off,” my friend Robin instructed me recently, which cracked me up. “Go wild. Take two!”
“You mean I can do that?” I asked. Put like that, it sounds stupid, but when you’re used to working as a team and then you’re alone, a lot of life-sustaining trivia needs to go on, especially living in the country. If I want a fire, then I need to split some wood.
Singing is fun. I joined a group that meets once a week to do harmonies, rounds, chants. I tried a bigger choir and gave it up; nice music, great people, too much work.
What is fun now? Me and my dog, a dark winter evening with a wind warning posted from Environment Canada. I love it when storms roll in. (See aforementioned commercial fishing.) The forecast winds are substantial, with 70k sustained wind and gusts up to 90. The Beaufort wind scale would rate this as hovering between a gale and a strong gale.
I enjoy those spaces between moments where a person sits there quietly, taking pleasure in the fire in the woodstove and the sound of rain beating on the roof. I keep putting down my book, looking around and smiling. Hello, little house, I say. I expect the power to go out, and that’s fine, I have candles and cute lanterns I picked up at the dollar store. Earlier, I stacked lots of wood in the cupboard by the stove. Tomorrow or the next day I might even make a few candles for gifts; I still have soy wax, wicks and jars.
Could the sparkly part of fun be welcoming what is with a sense of astonished acceptance? That might beat a tombstone with the legend on it, “Poor thing, she never finished her chores!”
I’d love to know your thoughts on fun, the sparkly life and somehow muddling through this all with elan.