Somewhere between being the pot-smoking, rule-breaking teenager who snuck out the back door and rolled the car down the driveway after midnight (sorry, Dad, but that truth was bound to come out eventually) and turning 52, I stopped being fun.
I don’t know if it was the private school uniform that encouraged my teenage antics or the banker’s suit, briefcase, nylons and heels that eventually discouraged them, but somewhere along the way, I lost my edge.
And I don’t recall agreeing to any of it, but somehow responsibility arrived rolled up with my college diploma and job offer, passed to me like a baton as I crossed the stage in 1996.
I was spontaneous. I loved having a good time. I didn’t always consider the consequences. I just went for it.
And damn, I had a lot of fun.
I was also the yearbook editor in high school, running a little side business manufacturing fake IDs out of the yearbook room.
And in complete transparency, I actually looked up the statute of limitations before putting that confession into words on a public forum. Since I’m not running for office, I’m considering myself in the clear.
But wow, do I wish I’d kept one of those artifacts from my past. I would frame it today.
I’m sure it was a terrible replica of anything resembling a legal ID, but apparently it was convincing enough for some of the seedier drinking establishments in downtown Minneapolis.
And really, wasn’t that the point?
In fairness to myself, entrepreneurship came naturally. It’s in my DNA. And honestly, so is rule-breaking. I am circling back to you, Dad, on both of those. You should be proud.
Now, before anyone gets concerned, I’m certainly not suggesting that pot smoking and potentially felonious activities are the secret to having fun. My color palette doesn’t include orange (unless it Hermès orange) or black-and-white stripes.
But I do wonder what happened to that girl.
Maybe being carefree is simply part of being a teenager. But why did that part of me have to expire when I became an adult?
And when did I decide she wasn’t allowed to come along?
Apparently, I left more than my permed hair in the ’90s.
When Life Got Serious
Becoming an independent young adult. Getting married. Buying a home. Taking on a mortgage. Having a child. Getting divorced. Illness. Losing my husband. Losing friends.
Life unfolded as it does, but the seriousness and responsibilities escalated.
It’s amazing how quickly that happens.
I think about those choices. So many were made before my prefrontal cortex was fully developed. My inner child was getting abandoned before I was even considered developmentally fully formed.
That sucks.
A kinder version of myself might have held the reins a little longer before sending me off into full adulthood, whether I was ready for it or not.
And yet, somewhere between adolescence and becoming a fully formed adult, I began taking on roles that seemed to require a certain persona.
The responsible citizen.
The corporate executive. The wife. The mother. The business owner. The community leader.
Each role came with expectations about how I was supposed to behave. Or at least what I assumed those expectations to be.
Be responsible. Be dependable. Be accomplished. Be mature. Be someone other people could count on.
And I became exceptionally good at all of those things.
My first job out of college actually required me to wear a skirt, pantyhose and suit jacket every single day.
I loved the wardrobe so much that I took a weekend job at Ann Taylor to help pay for it.
I also had to place ashtrays on the boardroom table before big meetings, which tells you something about the era I was entering.
Looking back, I didn’t reluctantly step into adulthood. I embraced it.
I was the one who actually asked for a briefcase for graduation.
And before you picture some Don Draper rectangular box with a handle, let me assure you that style was still very much a priority.
It was a black leather Coach saddle bag.
She was a completely impractical beauty that couldn’t accommodate my Tupperware brown-bag lunch, but I had never been more proud.
I loved being the woman in the suit. I loved the career, the ambition and the responsibilities that came with it. But somewhere between dressing the part and becoming the part, I began to take myself very seriously.
It might have started with an Excel spreadsheet I created to account for every dollar I earned, spent and saved. It only occurs to me now that there was never a line item for fun.
It makes me think of my late husband. His first job out of college was as a schoolteacher. He kept track of every dollar in a little pocket-sized notebook. He didn’t make much, but he accounted for it all. The disproportionate amount he spent on entertainment and alcohol speaks volumes about who he was, even back then.
He clearly understood the importance of budgeting for fun long before I did.
Looking back, I wonder how much of the responsible adult I became was actually me and how much was simply who I thought I was supposed to be. Working Girl (and Pretty Woman) were my favorite movies back in the day, so it’s hard to discern.
Even now, my analytical brain is spinning with questions. At what point did being responsible become being overly responsible? When did thinking things through become overthinking everything?
More importantly, why did I start believing that being an adult meant taking everything so seriously? Can I blame it on the briefcase?
I don’t think the problem was that I took serious things seriously. That’s just being smart. I think the problem was that eventually, I started taking everything seriously.
The Uncomfortable Realization
A couple of weeks ago, I attended the Hoffman Process, a seven-day program focused on self-awareness and personal growth.
One of the central ideas of the program is that we’re made up of four interconnected parts: our intellectual, spiritual, physical and emotional selves. The emotional self, or emotional child, is where our feelings, creativity, spontaneity and capacity for play live. Part of the process is learning to create balance among all four parts.
What became painfully obvious to me was that my intellectual self had been running the show. It’s literally been in the driver’s seat.
I have spent decades developing the part of myself that thinks, plans, organizes, anticipates and manages. My friends often laugh at my level of organization. I have a label and bin for everything, including the label maker.
It’s served me extraordinarily well in many areas of my life. Until recently, I considered ambition, grit, tenacity, hard work, determination, and resilience as my greatest attributes. I deeply appreciate what those qualities have allowed me to accomplish. Without them, I am not sure I could have run ten marathons and rebuilt my life after my husband passed away.
But somewhere along the way, between taking on life and responsibilities, my intellectual self became so dominant that I lost touch with the part of me that knows how to have fun.
That’s a hard thing to admit, particularly because I have a wonderful life. I travel, have extraordinary experiences, enjoy beautiful places and meet interesting people. I am grateful for all of it.
But here’s what I’m realizing. Having fun and being fun are two entirely different things.
And I want to be both.
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
Ironically, I’m now married to a 59-year-old man who never lost sight of his 12-year-old self.
Every Friday morning, I wake up to a dance party pouring out of our bathroom, with The Cure serenading me with Friday I’m in Love.
This is also a man who will happily eat an entire box of sugary cereal for dinner. And often does when I’m out of town. He makes me laugh every single day.
And when he’s with his young nephews, I’m not entirely sure who is having more fun. He engages with them as though he’s their age.
And me?
I’m usually the one giggling from the comfort of my Eight Sleep mattress, wrapped in sheets with a thread count that makes getting out of bed seem impossibly difficult some mornings.
So while he’s dancing around the room, I’m snuggled in watching.
We’re both enjoying the moment, but I’m realizing that I’ve become accustomed to enjoying the fun from the sidelines instead of participating in it.
And perhaps that’s part of what I want to change. Not just having fun, but being fun. Bringing more energy, spontaneity, humor and playfulness into my everyday life.
That’s the distinction. And that’s what’s been missing.
When Did We Start Taking Ourselves So Seriously?
Was it the responsibilities and spreadsheets that tracked my life? The expectations and the roles that went with each of them? And their corresponding outfits?
No wonder Sara Blakely cut the feet off her pantyhose. The package didn’t just arrive with the promise to pull everything up and in. Apparently, they sucked the fun out, too.
The retired finance executive in me doesn’t miss the pantyhose or the 15-year-old version of myself making reckless decisions. I certainly don’t need to return to my teenage antics. Escaping a felony once in a lifetime is more than enough.
But I do miss the freedom of my youth, before everything required so much consideration.
I’m sure I’m not alone here. I mean, I hope I’m not. I can’t be the only person who associated being responsible with being serious.
Post-Hoffman Process, here’s what I’m realizing. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.
I can have good judgment and still be spontaneous. I can throw confetti into the air, have a 30-second dance party and laugh like a schoolkid without abandoning every ounce of responsibility I’ve accumulated over the past three decades.
And I can be 52 years old and still have a little mischief in me. The kind that doesn’t involve law enforcement.
Making Room for More of Me
I recently discovered Molly Bell , who writes Sick & Well here on Substack. Her homepage is an explosion of color, personality and fun. It is playful and full of energy, and I shared with her how much I love it. It screams FUN!
I live in my beige era, with an occasional pop of blue or green, and I have absolutely no intention of changing that. I’ve discovered what makes me comfortable, what feels authentic to me, and I love those things about myself.
But I also recognize that I’ve become so caught up in getting things right that it consumes me. My intellectual self can intellectualize things into complete oblivion, to the point where I neither share, show up nor participate. Talk about not being fun.
How many times have you sat on the sidelines and watched other people dance at a party? Or hesitated before posting something on social media?
There’s a fine line between discernment and perfectionism, especially when you’re sharing your life with the world. I’m realizing that my hesitation often has less to do with discernment than I’d like to admit. Because it turns out I’m really good at discerning.
Years ago, I shared with a group that I would like to roll more like a ball and less like a square.
Molly is the colorful ball. I’m the beige square.
I happen to like the woman I’ve become. I’m not looking to replace her. But all these years later, I would truly like to learn how to roll through the world with more spontaneity and playfulness.
New experiences. New friendships. New opportunities. And add a seat at the table for that badass teenager who used to live inside me.
Not so she can take over. Just so she can remind me how to be fun again and how to roll through life.
If Stella Can Get Her Groove Back, So Can I
I don’t want my intellectual self to be the only one making decisions anymore. She’s been in the driver’s seat for far too long, and honestly, it’s exhausting living with that constant chatter and rumination.
I want to bring some of my old spirit into the life I have now.
And maybe that starts with something as simple as getting out of bed on Friday morning and joining my husband for a dance party.
Because if Stella can get her groove back, so can I.
Always EDITing,
Leslie
Please tell me I’m not alone here! I’d love to hear your thoughts. I read them all!
P.S. I’ve already started. Exhibit A: me, rolling like a beige ball.
10 Things I’m Doing to Get My Groove Back
And yes, I see the irony in responding to “you’re too serious” with a ten-point plan. Paid subscribers, it’s below.
More of my work
Here’s to being more fun on both of us!!
I needed this. Thank you, Molly