Second Degree Fun
On staying present, giving and receiving care, and "wasting" time.
A few days ago, I made a split-second decision to stop being annoyed by my dog. No, not the giant one who crashes into my legs every time I walk into a different room, learned how to open the pantry and Costco snack drawers last week, consumed an indeterminate amount of dog-unsafe ingredients, and ripped a glittery green wing off one of my beloved birds. That one deserves all my annoyance, and then some.
No, this time it was Winnie on the receiving end of my exasperation. Every single morning when I attempt to slide her harness over her head for a walk, she slinks away from me and rushes back, over and over, submissively grinning wildly and sneezing. Sure, it’s cute, but oh my god, we do this every day! I’m not going to hurt you! I just need to slide your damn harness on because your leash etiquette is so abysmal the harness is required to prevent you from choking yourself as you scramble down the street, writhing like a reptilian escapee from the fires of hell.
Friday morning I was wiped out. I had endured a colonoscopy on Thursday (are you 45? Get your ass scheduled. Pun intended.) and the corresponding prep that left me, well, drained. I stood at the foot of the stairs trying to coax Winnie to acquiesce and slide cooperatively into her harness for once in her life. All of a sudden, my irritation melted away. I heard a (neither psychotic nor religious) voice inside whisper: “You know, you could choose not to be annoyed by this daily dance, as it’s clearly not going to change.”
I instead accepted that, every day, Winnie is going to be noncompliant with her harness. And also, probably, Tigger is going to destroy a pair of my beloved high-waisted and moderately sexy—by my own account—underwear that I order from fucking London, and also probably, my youngest child is going to leave food trash in multiple rooms of my house. (That one I am actively working on—sometimes acceptance is not the right move. Gotta reference The Serenity Prayer, ya know?)
The dogs and I walked my daughter to school. When we came home, I knew I had a giant to-do list to tackle after my recuperative post-anesthesia day. But I let myself sit in my favorite place—the backyard hammock swing in the morning sunshine—drink my coffee, listen to my favorite playlist, and just BE. Then, in a seemingly useless decision in terms of productivity, I played with my dogs. I threw toys across the stuffie-carcass laden graveyard of my backyard while they galloped merrily after them. “Why don’t I do this more often?” I asked myself, knowing the answer all too damn well: Because I am trying to keep the house in order, run the errands, drive the kids to appointments, write a book, occasionally have fun, and make meals, all the while scrambling to do too many jobs in an effort to weigh which ones will be the most lucrative, and thus establish themselves as the most appropriate use of my time in order to support my children as a newly single mom (is it tacky or inappropriate to use this moment to encourage you to become a paid subscriber? Probably, dammit; too late, I did it, the shamelessness of it all!).
But sometimes we need to hit the Zack Morris pause button. Stop the inner chit-chat; question why we continue to be annoyed or surprised or angry about the aspects of our lives that are inevitable; take a deep breath; play with the goddamn dogs.
***
Last week, I had the experience of being both a giver and receiver of the post-procedure anesthesia driver thing. On Monday, I drove a beloved friend to and from her appointment, got to hold her hand when she woke up and giggle over the recovery room stream of medicated consciousness, tenderly situate her in the car, drive her to my home and make her soup and give her blankets and love. Thursday, I was in the more vulnerable position of being driven, of waking up in recovery, of weeping over the unknowns I was facing, for the first time, more or less on my own.
Both were profoundly tender snapshots in my life, bringing into sharp focus the privilege of being in the moment with people you care for, people who care for you. What an honor it is, to love and be loved.
***
In my writing group, we were talking about how easy it is to sleepwalk through the little moments of our lives, the goddamn mantra of “stay present” like an albatross around our necks. We know, we know, be mindful! Stay in the moment! But god, we are so busy, we have so much to do, which way should we look? The groceries need to be bought, the dinner needs to be cooked, the spreadsheet needs to be updated, everybody needs their flu shots. . . who has time to throw a decapitated stuffed fox for an irritating dog or sit down and enjoy the sun on their face, watch a TV show on Netflix for the first time in months, or write in their journal just for the sake of writing?
We talked about how easy it is to bypass the joy of writing in service to the more appropriate satisfaction of “I have finished this piece, submitted it, published it, and most importantly, received financial compensation for it.” In our hustle culture, a mill of productivity, a TO-DO mentality vs TO-BE, we are conditioned to skip to the finish line, despite memes of insipid mountain climbers reminding us it’s the journey, not the destination! What a crock.
My friend calls this “second degree fun.” As in, you don’t want to DO the thing, you want to HAVE DONE it. I cringed upon first hearing this, drawing to mind my tendency to add already completed items to my to-do list simply to cross them off. I LOVE having done things. It reminded me of being on stage last week for Listen To Your Mother Denver. Rather than rejoice later that I “had been” on stage, this time, I allowed myself to sink right into that moment, the lights on my face, the bright eyes of my daughters in the front row, the laughter of my brother in the audience, my feet on the stage. I loved BEING on stage. Reading. Not having read my story. Not having pulled off a show.
It’s so easy to get focused on the end result, of course it is. We can’t always stay present—it’s impossible and impractical and not appropriate. But goddamn, sometimes we need to throw the ball and sit in the sun and hold the hand and drink in the moment. Because life, as we all know, is so very fucking short.
XOXO,
Steph
***
Other delights and bits of joyful news:
Oh sweet baby bird Jesus, things are happening in my house with our Target holiday birds. Yes, yes the Christmas birds are out, but praise be to Taylor Swift, we have a new Eras Tour bird display, complete with Taylor in an Eras popcorn bucket surrounded by tiny Eras birds, one for every album. You gotta find me on Instagram @stephsprenger to follow this insanity. Also, the kids and I want to become TikTok famous, so maybe find us there, too. 😉😘
Writing friends, daydreaming and journaling friends, creative friends who simply want to try the catharsis of writing a story, come join us Thursday night for a virtual writing workshop: The Emerging Writer’s Essay Workshop is a 2-part Zoom series taught by my LTYM co-producer Megan Vos and myself. Details here: https://www.motherplusser.com/writing-workshop
OMG. I have been taking a stand-up comedy class this fall, and I am in love. Come support my classmates and me as we take the stage in our first big show on Sunday, December 10th, at 7 pm, at Junkyard Social in Boulder. Tickets are $15, available here.
Love this narrative!