Play Time

So the other day I ended up babysitting my second cousins (that is the unspoken glory of a large extended family, your cousins bring their kids over and you end up watching them while they catch up with your parents/the rest of their immediate family). This would be far more annoying I’m sure if my second cousins weren’t completely awesome. I genuinely do enjoy spending time with them, even though it leaves me with an exhaustion I haven’t felt since I taught Pre-K. Anyway, I think I like hanging out with my second cousins because, while I am the responsible adult who makes sure they don’t play with fire, it also gives me a chance to be silly and play in a way that is much harder to do with adults.

What I mean is, I don’t know when the world became such a serious place- when people lost their sense of whimsy. Because a good majority of us in the United States work 40 hours a week or more, and when we are not working we are encouraged to fill up our time with things that are “cool,” exercise related, or relaxing. Things as seen on TV like going to expensive trendy restaurants, drinking until we lose our minds, going clubbing to dance in ways that we would be ashamed to own up to in front or our parents, exercising to keep ourselves sexy, fit, or both, Facebook/social media, watching Netflix… the list goes on. And it’s all so material that I find it unsatisfying and, if I’m being honest, more than a little confining. I want more to my life than that. And that’s why I like to play and be silly with my second cousins. It’s nice to get absorbed into their imaginations, to infuse life with a little adventure again, to be surprised by the little truths they reveal about life’s mysteries with their child-like wisdom.

And I almost encourage societies not to join the first world, because it gets lonely here. Because everything that once used to give the soul time to breathe, such as playing and being silly or taking refreshing walks by yourself just to remember that this world is bigger than you are, is not considered a priority and takes a back seat to these empty and meaningless distractions (the ones as seen on TV). And the worst part is we lie about it. We play this elaborate game of pretend like we’re not running on empty, denying that our soul has needs and afraid to genuinely pursue them. Because pursuing those needs might mean admitting that we have enough, and sometimes it’s still not enough, because our hearts still long for something more. Something like God,  although in mainstream society admitting to a belief in God and confessing how that gives purpose and satisfaction to your life is on par with admitting you still believe in Santa Claus,  and your critics will tell you as much.

But I can’t take that criticism seriously. Because I don’t think the world would be such a bad place if it allowed for more children and more child-like hearts.



Nothing Original

Some days I may use this thing just for me. Days like today where I really need to trust in God. I apply for jobs and while I suppose it’s good to have backup plans I have back-ups for my back-ups. And if this past year has taught me anything it’s that even the best-laid plans fall apart. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Because I think my planning is a way to hide. It’s a compromise to hope. I settle for a half hope because I don’t want to be disappointed. How sad. I was such an adventurous little kid. I biked, I climbed trees, I played outside. Most of all I imagination played. Re-enacting scenes that would play in my head from movies, plays, books, or even my own imagination. And I would force my siblings to play with me. And when one act was over I would just start the next one.

When did my game change? Was it when I grew up? Because I still haven’t. I still dream. I just give more weight to the opinions of others who say that dreams aren’t real. Because I am starting to think that maybe all dreams require is not magic or a denial of reality, but patience. And if I am going to have to wait I might as well wait in hope. I am Catholic after all.


The art of being bookish

Today while looking at the word count on something I was writing and I got to wondering about how many words I’ve actually written in my lifetime, from kindergarten to the present moment. Amazing to even grasp. Writing is an amazing part of the human experience. I know not everyone would agree with me on that but to me writing is always a bit mystical. It is the code that unwraps stories and I just love a good story. They totally capture me. I’m that kid who’s easily bored with a great imagination and stories give me that rare opportunity to be totally engaged.