Because it’s fun

Yesterday, I was talking with my son about trampolining, and I was saying how I was glad he was jumping on the trampoline to get exercise, and then he said, “And because it’s fun.” At the time, I thought nothing of it. This morning, it landed in me, and it landed harder than I expected.

It got me thinking that I’m not sure when the last time was when I did something purely because it was fun. I used to play music for fun, but that has become something that I do to stop the rough feelings rather than purely because it’s fun. I go to family gatherings, which have a fun component, but there is a significant feeling of obligation. I have friends, but in that too, it feels like it’s work to maintain the connection.

Fun used to be everywhere. It would creep up on me and surprise me. I got to feel it organically. I would ride my bike around the neighborhood. I would listen to a great song and sing along in the car, and savored that moment. I didn’t understand how precious that moment would seem as I look back on it now.

I wonder what it would feel like to just take a moment and do something (or not do something, or not do anything) because that’s what feels like fun, or to give myself room to…how might I say it…listen for the fun?

Transitions

This has been a week of transitions, so maybe I’m just feeling all the loss/transition/etc., but things feel heavy right now. Maybe it’s the daily departure of people to work and school that gives me too much room in the house. Maybe it’s the unexpected funeral of a vivacious cousin. I’m not sure. All that I’m sure of is that it’s okay to feel this way. It’s the flip-side of love. Missing the people you love, and who you spend so much time with. Missing family, missing friends. Realizing that life is short, and that I won’t be able to achieve so many of the outcomes that I dreamed of as a child.

And yet…so many things that I didn’t even think to dream, or know to dream, or begin to imagine, have also appeared. They’re not as straightforward as the childhood joys. They’re deeper. They’re more soul-enriching. The sense of knowing that kindness exists. My kindness, and others’ kindness. Knowing that those small acts of kindness add up. Each day, we can bring that to ourselves and others. Even in the face of all the difficult stuff. Crime, war, poverty, hunger, homelessness.

The ability to help someone else through the unexpected funeral. To drive in the funeral procession. To put dirt on their coffin – the one good deed that can never be repaid, at least not in the earthly realm. It’s deep stuff. It’s not the joy of a song. It’s not the wind in my hair when I’m riding my bike. But it’s important. Really important.

The house is never finished

I’m not sure how to close this. I seem to have a problem wrapping things up in a nice tidy bow these days. But maybe that’s part of this. I was talking with my mom and she was talking about life as though it was a house, and how we’re mid-build in that house – mid-build in our life. And I said, “the house is never finished,” meaning that she won’t get things exactly where she might want them before she leaves the earth. But then I realized that I won’t either. And neither will my son. And neither will generations beyond him. The house isn’t only “never finished” for one person. It’s never finished. Ever.

And maybe that’s the lesson. The house is never finished. Just like all the important things, there is always more work to do to get closer to where we would like things to be.

I hope you can take some comfort in that fact, when you’re feeling like things are unsettled. The house is never finished.