PLAY WITH ME, PLEASE

This past summer while I watched my two nieces play in a hotel pool, a thought occurred to me. It’s kind of bananas that we turn these little munchkins who are so tapped into joy and imagination into adults who are supposed to obey strict social rules and dress up only once a year on Halloween. While I understand the need for maturation and growing responsibilities, I feel like we have unnecessarily snuffed out the ability to play in the process. Or, perhaps more accurately, sequestered play into the shadows, where only our nearest and dearest get to see that side of us, if at all.

I don’t consider myself to be a very serious person. I am constantly looking for a goof and my relationship with John is filled with ridiculous voices, silly dances and bits that basically amount to a two-person improv scene. But I almost never show this full side of myself to anyone other than him or my parents. Even my closest friends have probably seen only flickers of this when I am feeling extra uninhibited or, you know, high. When I think about my self-concept, playfulness is a huge component of what makes me me. And yet, almost no one has access to it because I feel like it’s not socially acceptable to act that way as an adult. This is, quite frankly, a bummer.

To be clear, I’m not someone who thinks we only have one “true” version of ourselves, and we should act the same way regardless of the company or context. I know we are all made up of different parts and the dominant part can rotate depending on how we feel and what we’re doing. I have no desire to break out into song during my social psychology class or do my “steamy woman” bit at a doctor’s appointment. But I do want to get more comfortable sharing this side of myself when it feels appropriate. The problem is, my idea of when it’s appropriate has always been extremely narrow.

There have been times where I have felt my silly side sneak out in front of friends and immediately thought, “Uh oh!” Is this too much? Am I making other people uncomfortable? Or worse, do I look like I am aching for attention? I can feel my self-monitoring start to activate and I suck my playfulness back inside. But why? A large component of socially engaging with other people is to enjoy their company and to enjoy ourselves. Why shouldn’t play be a part of that enjoyment? One of the things I value most in a relationship is when I feel comfortable being myself. That comfort should, in theory, extend to being silly. Maybe not every time. But more than never.

Even as I write this, I can feel myself getting nervous. As much as I want to be able to tap into this side of myself more frequently, I know it won’t come naturally. I have spent a lot of time and effort learning how to behave in a “socially appropriate” way. Engaging in full-blown play in front of new people feels counterintuitive to my goal to seem “normal” after growing up feeling weird and unlikable. But it’s also something I’m realizing I want for myself, which is one of those cues that I should probably push past the discomfort. It’s also not a scenario where I have to dive all the way in. I can test the waters and see if my increased silliness is reciprocated or judged with disdain in the moment. I might discover there are some friends who welcome it and others who, um, don’t, and then adjust accordingly.

The world is a really hard place to live in right now. And adding more playfulness to my day-to-day life feels like a good way to combat some of that ever-present tension. It also feels like a way to give more energy toward a part of me that I do like and want to nurture, instead of spending too much time fixating on my flaws. Plus, we take our cues from other people. If I start to loosen up and let the silliness out more, who knows what I might find waiting for me. It’s quite possible that all of you have some incredible dances, characters, bits and “steamy women” just aching to play in the sun.

xoxo,

Allison