I got into work late this morning. Still in holiday mode when my alarm went off at 7, it took a garbled “let’s get this bread” to eventually rise at 7:28. I observed my droopy plant across the room, felt a moment of shared apathy, and watered us both before heading toward the subway.
When I arrived at the office breathless and sweaty, my coworker and I shared the standard post-long weekend exchange. My voice instantly registered raspier than a newly rushed Delta Zeta, which made a nice case for lateness due to “still not feeling great,” despite the Starbucks in my hand. A warmth flooded my tight, sore cheeks as I realized laughter was the culprit—a good weekend, indeed.
Moments later, I found an old affirmation card on my desk. My team pulls them every so often when we feel the walls of our dusty, 4-person shared space closing in at the height of the fiscal year. It read:
Playfulness. I am a playful participant in life, and I always have the option to make something a fun game rather than a heavy burden. Mary Poppins puts sugar in the medicine for a reason. That lady knows how to party.
You and I aren’t so different, Mary P.
Lately I’ve found that the more I consciously choose to infuse play into my life, the better I feel. Laughing with my friends all weekend was easy money. But it’s the intentional shifts toward fun in inherently less fun activities that really make a difference.
I used to treat exercise like punishment. Five miles on the treadmill for that pizza binge. Work out twice in a day if I missed the day prior. It was a numbers game that I was always set to lose, and I considered exercise something I had to do. When I started trail running again at lower intensity paces, I saw my attitude toward working out change. My run is now the highlight of every day. I reap the benefits of endorphins, the energy of other runners surrounding me, the joy of being outside—I’m truly having fun, and I now view exercise as something I get to do. Within weeks of this adjustment, I lost the extra weight I’d been holding for eight months.
Peace is another tenet I’ve been actively seeking. They say, “if it costs your peace, it’s too expensive.” But peace, like many other practices, functions both short and long term. In my experience, sometimes it’s worth suffering momentary chaos for long-term peace. You just need a clear vision of what your long-term peace looks like.
I don’t love my job. Many days I feel a deep discontent knowing I’m not doing my forever thing being here. However (and this is a big however), the work-life balance is unrivaled, giving me the freedom to focus on personal writing and other pursuits on the side. In my working vision of long-term peace, I’m writing books. Maybe I’m doing a different job full-time, but I am most certainly writing books. This job is a just ok means to a fuck yeah end.
Having a partner is also within my vision of long-term peace. I get anxiety toward the uncertainty of being single in my late 20s. But I also know that dating unfit people will compromise my short-term peace even more than being alone, so I’m being ultra-selective with whom I’ll share my time and energy. I see too many people in toxic relationships. I’ve been that person myself. We often refuse to admit that beyond the chaos of losing someone comfortable/familiar lies the long-term peace of finding the right person. The romantic timelines we honor are fully arbitrary. I’m adjusting mine toward optimal peace, even if it requires newfound patience.
Play and peace: two concepts that ground us as we work ourselves to the bone and resign to the discord of adulthood. But I believe in life by design, not by default. And for my design to thrive, these are my two metrics for success. Plus, to find oneself void of either is surely symptomatic of capitalism. Gross!