For instance, I always keep a pair of flats close by when I decide to go out in my big girl heels. Of course, the more practical thing to do would be to ditch the heels and always opt for flats. You could do that, but why? It’s like ordering something without cheese. You could, but why?
There’s a point to all of this, and it’s this: even in the face of a more exciting option, make sure that you have backup. Otherwise you’ll end up with blistered feet and you’ll be cranky and impossible to have fun with before the night even ends.
Which brings us to point no. 2: If something you’re doing doesn’t contribute to a fuller sense of being, then it should at least be fun. I’ve devised a simplistic little two-way test–similar to the one Rotary has–to give you an idea of how trite I really am, and it goes like this:
- Does it contribute to a fuller sense of being?
- Is it fun?
There was supposed to be a third item, which was “Are you getting paid for it?” Yes/No? But that would make me sound like a soulless corporate douchebag. Or a hooker. And I am neither of those. At least by a large percentage, I am neither of those.
Number 1 is tricky. How do you know that something nurtures a sense of self when you don’t even know who you are? Which incorporates the first lesson into the second; in this case, the backup plan is to just pick something yo know is–or at least think might be–fun. Don’t take this for granted. There are some people who are so uptight or so codependent on other people to yank them out of their shells that they don’t even know what they enjoy. Sometimes you’re yanked into the wrong context, and you’re not sure.
Sometimes you never have fun, and you have to ask yourself if it’s necessary.
Know what you have fun with because it brings you closer to what you’re really made of. I used to watch movies alone. I never would have realized I enjoy watching movies alone if I always had company. Now where were we…really…Good morning.
Oh yes, I love my life. I do. I have managed to gather a handful of beautiful people whom I love and who love me back (at least I think they do. One of them even baked me a red velvet cake. It is wonderful). Aside from dicking around on the internet, my days are full of meaningful distractions and a job I love. One day my heart is going to explode, and it has nothing to do with bad cholesterol because I don’t even eat red meat.
I get to make my own choices, and always have. Which is a luxury I know I should never take for granted and something I’ve always placed so much faith in–this whole notion that I’m doing the right thing. Otherwise, every choice I make would feel like one made at gunpoint, and that’s not fun.