Are you having any fun?
I've asked myself this very question a hundred times this summer
It started with a week of fewer childcare hours than I typically enjoy and is ending with me furiously typing as I realize I haven’t sent out a newsletter since June?? Thank you, subscribers, for hanging tough, especially to my paid besties (as in, people who pay for this newsletter, not people I pay to be my best friends. Those people will still be receiving their stipends.)
While I spent a majority of the past month running around barefoot in the yard with my posse (kids, dog, chickens, etc), I somewhat shockingly did delve into some critical thinking about the nature of breaks.
A friend of mine took some PTO for a day trip to the coast. She dutifully conjured an OOO email to bounce back to any potential senders, complete with a reachable phone number should an emergency arise. “I’m in marketing…like what could possibly be an emergency?” Then we chuckled and guffawed over the plump store of memes and videos bravely tackling the matter. Unless you’re a surgeon on call, hardly anything is as urgent as we think it is. I’m not a researcher or psychologist but do we really need a study to tell us that breaks feel good? You hum along a lot happier after being unplugged for a while.
I’m encouraged to see that Gen Z is leading the charge on unclenching from their jobs whilst on holiday.
All that to say, thank you for your patience as I continue to gleefully reject the timeline my younger self insisted upon. I hope that you too are enjoying a slow morning summer.
Every time I write…
…I can and do cry with relief. As a verbal processor, writing seems to instantly drain weeks worth of swirling thoughts. About what? I couldn’t tell you. All I know is fears that seemed real were imagined and dreams that were imagined have the potential to become real when pen meets paper (ie fingers meet keyboard and digitized letters appear on screen). Despite needing a break, I missed writing and the creative spring it taps. Here is a mildly amusing (according to me) update that happened during the break. I also did a lot of dishes.
People unfollowed me on Instagram
There’s a character I do on social media called “The Baroness.” She’s supposed to be some level of British nobility, though I don’t pretend to know how any of the rankings work after “King” or “Queen.” I stole the accent from Claire Foy’s version of Queen Elizabeth and threw in some extra upper-crust frostiness for good measure. The first video I made as “The Baroness” went viral probably because it was so ridiculous.
I was pretending to endure brief visitation with my offspring before promptly passing her back to the “Governess” (my husband, as it were, given away by the hairy arms). After that one, I made dozens more of her existing in various states of snobbery. They were all so fun to make and actually kept me going a lot of days when I needed to adopt her level of confident aloofness. Sometimes I feel like it’s easier to say things, confessionally or otherwise, when I have a crisp accent to back me up.
According to “insights” on Instagram, most of my followers landed on my page via a couple viral “Baroness” videos. The rest of the content are weeds among a few flowering plants (plant?). I suppose what happens when you have a video that is more contagiously viral than others is that newcomers follow particularly for that one tasting but weren’t necessarily craving the whole menu.
As followers unburden themselves of my posts on their feeds, it’s hard not to take it personally. Was I only funny that one time? Have I shared too much? Too little? Too often? How am I supposed to make progress if my page is regressing? I blame it on myself, the algorithm, the time of day, internet bots, AI, the Baroness, the lack of an actual governess.
But then, a psychic DM’d me and I thought, “Aha! She will reveal the truth of who what why how I’m still clinging to that one hit wonder and when I will next be propelled to success.” (What kind of success you may ask? Any kind. I’m not picky.)
I was genuinely intrigued to get the first message. She employed a lot of pet names (hon, honey, love, sweetheart, you know the ones) and capitalized letters in an enigmatic way (Energy. Universe. Spirit. As in, “Spirit wanted me to reach you.”)
She complimented me on my particularly bright energy in her first several messages. Do not, I repeat, do NOT threaten me with affirmations. Moi???? Stop it, you!!!! She asked if I was a spiritual person. “Sure am,” I replied proudly! So get to the part where you tell me all the good stuff about to happen. Then came Act II.
Despite my alleged vibrancy, there were dark clouds hovering around my spirit. Dun dun dun. Had I wronged anyone, she asked. “Sure, lots of people,” I replied, thinking of all the times I’ve eaten other people’s leftovers, ice cream, snacks etc etc. What a relief to learn that she was a certified dark cloud remover! My worries over career success and financial stability would fall by the wayside under her mystic management.
I’m embarrassed to admit how much of my soul yearned for a quicker fixer upper fast track like this one. Unfortunately her services weren’t just for the betterment and balance of the Universe. As a physical being, she required shelter and sustenance and thusly, a small fee for the effort. The nerve. We ended the conversation there. But when I’m having an off day I still think, “Sheesh, can someone help a sister out and un-cloud me already?”
Just as the experts have warned, social media is truly a pit of dopamine inducing spoils. The hearts, the comments, the shares! I’m nearly thirty, moderately secure and confident in my creative endeavors and it’s still the first place to which my brain wanders when I’m jolted awake in the darkest hours by the tiny roommates living in our house. Why why why won’t my page grow anymore? I’m always slightly nervous to post again but can’t imagine stopping having sunk so much into it already. Also it’s fun. Though it was an option in which many of my peers partook during our formative years, I’m thankful over and over again that I didn’t delve into social media until squarely in my twenties. I can’t imagine the breadth of anxieties I might’ve unearthed swiping and scrolling my way through adolescence.
I permit myself ten minutes on Instagram every day barring Sundays. I’m only allowed to open it if I’m actively posting something creative or answering messages from friends. I rarely scroll. I don’t have much of a desire to anyway, something I credit to my kids. They occupy so much of my attention and energy that I literally don’t have empty space in my brain to fill with even a random twinge of worry over whether I should replace our fraying dish towels because that one friend of a friend from middle school is hooking us up (!!!) with a discount code!!!
There’s a scene from The Office (what else) that I think about when I have unwittingly allowed numbers on Instagram to pummel my spirit (said as someone who does not even make a living from social media). Gloriously foolish Regional Manager of Dunder Mifflin, Andy Bernard, finds himself in a pickle when he incentivized paper sales by offering his derriere as a blank tattoo canvas. He’s standing outside the parlor, nervously confiding in Jim.
Andy: Confession. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Jim: I mean, do you like it? Are you having fun?
Andy: *sighs/shrugs/looks flummoxed*
Jim: I’ll tell you this. Everybody else is having a lot of fun.
Then he gets his ass tattooed. It’s so fun. It’s so funny. Vibe check. Are you having any fun?
NOTE TO SELF: The whole point of making sketches on social media was to practice writing, editing, acting and comedy. And to have fun. The good news is that when I make something that tickles my own funny bone, I’m lighter, happier, more playful and grateful, and if you’ll allow me some self-indulgence, more generous as a wife, mom and friend. Even when no one watches or pays me for it, it’s better to be creative than to not. Though if someone does want to pay me handsomely for an acting job someday, I suppose I would begrudgingly accept.
Yours,
Alli
