Why I'm Reclaiming Frivolity
I am entering a season of unprecedented frivolity.
And I'm finding it strangely… difficult.
You see, I've spent a very long time believing that the value of my work could be measured by how much it exhausted me.
If I came home depleted, unable to do anything except lie down and recover from the day, some part of me interpreted that as evidence…
Well. You must have done good.
And hard work meant good work.
Useful work.
Serious work.
Work I was allowed to feel proud of.
But then I started dancing more, and painting and writing.
The problem with doing things because you want to
Painting has caused a bit of a crisis in this particular belief system.
Because I fucking love it.
I want to do it.
I can lose myself in it.
I can’t NOT DO IT.
And instead of finishing depleted, I often finish with more energy than I started with.
Highly suspicious.
The same thing has been happening elsewhere.
Walking.
Making things.
Energy practices.
Writing.
Following strange creative impulses simply because something in me says…
DO IT. Go there.
None of this looks particularly serious… or useful… from the outside.
And yet the more I follow it, the more connected I become.
To myself.
To other people.
To my work.
To animals.
To God.
To life.
Maybe frivolity isn't frivolous at all…
So I've started wondering whether frivolity needs reclaiming.
Because what if the things we've dismissed as frivolous — pleasure, play, beauty, making ridiculous things, following curiosity, dancing because dammit, i like it — aren't distractions from the important business of being alive?
What if they are in fact, the important business of being alive?
This doesn't mean everything is easy.
It doesn't mean there isn't pain or responsibility or grief or work that needs doing.
But I'm becoming increasingly suspicious of the idea that seriousness is inherently more sacred than joy.
I used to think play was profane
I had a conversation with a friend recently about launching the offers we’ve been working on.
We were talking about how whether a launch fails or succeeds ultimately depends upon whether you stick with it.
She said:
Exactly. It's all a game.
And I immediately thought:
100%.
Actually, what's not a game?
And then I realised something.
There was a time when I couldn't have said that and meant it.
When you're living in survival mode, life doesn't feel particularly playful.
Everything matters too much.
Everything feels loaded.
I used to tell myself that it was somehow profane to perceive games amongst the mess of it all.
But lately I've started wondering whether what I was calling profanity was actually something else entirely.
The forever-present divine comedy.
My new definition of useful
I'm not interested in building a life where the proof that I've done something worthwhile is that it has drained the life out of me.
I want to make things that leave me more alive.
I want work that creates connections.
I want to paint things that make me laugh.
I want glitter balls where glitter balls have absolutely no business being.
I want to follow the guidance of my heart even when it can't provide a PowerPoint presentation explaining the return on investment.
Perhaps this is frivolity.
Fine.
I'm reclaiming it.
Because I'm beginning to suspect that following what brings me alive isn't distracting me from my work.
It might be how I find it.
If you’re on your own reclamation journey, check out The Gold Standard!