One of the things that’s been the most disconcerting, in the little over a year since I quit my day job, is that I don’t have to “accomplish” something every day. Accustomed to deadlines and deliverables, I found myself setting arbitrary goals (or – worse – not setting goals,) feeling like I should be getting (some undefined, unnamed) something done.
With faux goals or no goals, how could I expect to feel anything but failure? I couldn’t. I was always just a little bit uncomfortable, a little bit unhappy.
Finally, I was forced to face my eye-on-the-finish-line bogeyman. A friend with a talent for creating beautiful works of art, using a far-flung assortment of media invited me to play – not to do a project, not to achieve a goal, not to finish a whatever – just to spend a day in her studio, playing with stuff. I was dumbfounded, nervous, uneasy, and unsure, but I tried it. It was a revelation.
No matter how old we grow, we always need a little time on the playground. The freedom to let our muse run around, holler at the top of her voice, dance the Macarena, is not a luxury; it is as important as a good night’s sleep or well-deployed chocolate to keep us functioning at our best. Things that truly must be accomplished are much easier conquered after a little recess.
Oh, is that the bell? Last one to the monkey bars is a rotten egg!