Permission to Play and Be Spontaneously

PLAY

I have spent so much of my life focused on doing things. Achieving. Checking boxes. A never-ending to-do list. I will take a break when ______. I will enjoy life when ______. As if joy is something to reach toward rather than it already being at my core. It is more an act of undoing than doing- peeling away the layers to experience my true nature. In a constant state of striving, reaching toward something, we lost sight of who we are at our core. I don't care what you are reaching toward, I am curious about what you are reaching from.

We are designed to be. To unfold. Our bodies spontaneously feel like playing, running, laughing, connecting. I watch my children and see this pure joy and playfulness and want to freeze this essence. Bottle it up and spray it all around for us to remember our true nature - who we were/are before cultural ideals became louder than our heart's desires.

Instead of focusing on keeping our kids busy and signing them up for more things to do, what if we allow our kids to "be?" What if we allow them to become who they are? To unfold, unfurl like a flower. I am not a child development expert by any means, so you know this inquiry is really meant to be self-inquiry. In order to allow our children to be, we need to allow ourselves to be. To listen. To play. To experience the moment fully as it is instead of anxiously planning ahead to make the uncertainty of the future feel more controled. What if we surrendered and opened to the knowing that we are not in control of our kids, our lives, the world? What if we embrace all of it as it is? Knowing where we are is what we need?

Trusting that everything is happening for a reason even when it really sucks. There is no quick fix or numbing required. All we need is to love ourselves enough to know that we have our own backs and can handle any challenges that come to us when they arrive. In my experience, the most challenging obstacles come completely out of left field and aren't usually the imaginary scenarios I had tried to prevent. So what is the point of worrying? Who would we be without these worries and thousands of imaginary scenarios?

When I shed the layers of doing, performing, avoiding, and striving, I realize the permission to be was inside me all along. So were joy, peace, and love. In a society that has confused "play" with competition, I can reclaim the playfulness of my inner child that became focused on being "good" at what I was playing rather than experiencing play for its own sake. I am realizing that this is essential for me right now. It is not just some lofty, fun thing for me to "play around with."

BE

The root of becoming is "be," and I realize that a lot of why I previously had not felt like I had "become" a mom or a woman yet was because I was not allowing myself to be. To experience myself. I had cut myself off from feeling so that I could continue to "move forward" in the illusory linear path toward "success." So focused on how I would "feel good" when I got there that I stopped feeling anything in the present moment. Not realizing that when we avoid feeling in this way, we are also avoiding all of the "good" feelings.

Another fun word that has "be" at the root is belonging. We confuse belonging with fitting in, but it is really the opposite. It is a "longing to be" ourselves as we are. When I belong, I meet that longing and simply be me.

Making space for expressive arts in my life allows me to be. When I first began, I used to feel like I had to move/exercise/do yoga before making time for creative explorations. Similar to the mindset of needing to earn rest or earn a vacation/treat. Letting that go has felt so delicious. Permission all around.

One thing to note about this, is the more I focus on being, the more challenging it can be to communicate with other humans still in "doing" mode. When asked "How was your morning?": If I say, "I walked 3 miles and did a 45 minute strength workout," I might receive a response like "Great job! Keep up the good work. I wish I had your level of discipline." When I say, "I explored my fluidity and the rivers running through my body. Then, I felt the sun inside of me and my energy lifted me out of the heaviness that had been creeping in lately. I drew an image in my journal to capture the feeling so I can hang it up and remember this feeling whenever I stray away from my true nature," I might get a confused look.

People generally know how to respond to what we “do” but may not know how to handle conversations about being/feeling. And to that, I say "who cares?!" but also, it is important to find people that you connect with on a deeper level- people that are willing to go there or at least aware of feelings beyond labels of "good" and "bad." This fosters the experience of seeing and being seen and helps us feel more connected.

S is for SPONTANEOUS

Speaking of explaining our creative process to other humans: Recently, my husband (bless his sweet soul) came down the stairs and asked me how I was doing, and I replied, "I have really been feeling the letter 'S' lately. I can't stop writing down words that start with S in moving in ways that start with the letter S. Feeling the sensuality of my body (while slithering my body around)..." He laughed and asked to hear more about it because he is used to these sort of responses by now (and perhaps the word "sensual" and associated movements peaked his interest).

Below are a few snapshots from my visual journal from my Spontaneous call to play with S. This is a pure example of playing for the sake of it. I did not close any exercise rings on my watch or get any gold stars for any of this, but I felt open, flowing, curious, vibrant, and f**** good.

Are you ready to give yourself permission to play and be, spontaneously? Who are you when you peel away the layers of conditioning, achieving, and fear? Instead of focusing on what you are reaching toward, can you connect with yourself deeply and explore what you are living from? How would you feel? How can you prioritize play and rest? Permission. Sweet Freedom.