While walking through the square during the second real dusting of snow we’ve had this year the underclassmen hanging out enjoying the snow surprised me. As a New England native, I’m used to the four seasons and usually more copious snow. I don’t get that sense of bewilderment that comes with the first real experience of snow.
It’s easy to feel a little jealous of that feeling, at least for me, because I love the fun of winter weather. Snow days don’t really exist anymore, and when there’s lots of beautiful fluffy snow on the ground my first thought is no longer “Fun!” but rather “Not another run of shoveling.” I understand this change in mentality is called “acting like an adult,” or “thinking responsibly,” but at this juncture it seems like a lot of baloney.
Where did the fun go? Why are people so doggone serious? I have a blast living at the Fort because, while we do all those adult things that have to get done, we also play pick up sticks, or poker with fake guns and costumes, or cover the bathroom walls with geeky graffiti. By the by, I am very proud of my rendition of a terminal window querying destination. The answer keyed-in on the screen is, of course, funkytown.
Strangely enough, people sound both incredulous and envious when they hear about where I live and how much fun it is (They also make comments questioning my sanity, but that’s not the point). We pay our bills, do grocery shipping, and get caught up in all the same things other folks do, but somehow the people I live with have miraculously learned to have fun while living life.
I love where I am at, and I get so infuriated that other neat and interesting people seem to have somehow forgotten to have fun. The scul site hits on a way in which to have lots of fun:
SCUL creates bikes that are difficult to control, damaging to knees, and painful to sit upon. They are structurally unsound and easy to crash. We are test pilots of poorly designed vessels. The single advantage that choppers have over other bikes is that they are better at running over empty Burger King shake cups. … It is no secret that there is a state of euphoria that accompanies a pilot during a mission. USBF has developed a formula for this state:
E = (Ship’s Difficulty Rating * Number of choppers in battalion)^2
Everyone, and I mean everyone, for the sake of your sanity, please find some way to have fun. I’m going to venture forth and be judgmental here: if alcohol (or another substance) is a prerequisite to getting to the fun, then you aren’t doing it right. Now, I love the beer, I will even venture so far as to say that I have an extra special supper buddy friendship with beer. Beer is in no way necessary for those moments of childhood-like bliss found in trying to make the swing go as high as possible. That sense of fun comes entirely from within and if you’ve forgotten how to get there, then by all means take some serious time to go out and find it. You need it. I think your soul, your sense of kindness, dies a little without it.
I try really hard to include that joy and wonder in my life. I jump in puddles, make up walking games to skip cracks, kick stones down the street in front of me, stop and poke at slugs on the sidewalk, and stop and watch squirrels until they start yelling at me. That feeling is there for me, but I wasn’t feeling it when I saw the snow, and I cursed the jaded adult in me for skimping out on having a good time.