This post is part of a 31 Day series on the topic Dare to Be and linking up with about 1500 other bloggers on hundreds of topics. Come on over to The Nester to check that out!
My name is Anne and I used to have red sneakers.
I also had one of those swing sets. The metal ones with stripes that sat out and rusted in the rain.
That swing set was one of my best companions when I was little. My brother didn't enter the scene till I was six, so I had lots and lots of time to play alone on the farm.
Some of my best memories are just me,
swinging on the swing set,
climbing my favorite tree,
playing with my dog, Prince,
and discovering that my cat Priscilla had kittens in the abandoned chicken house.
I knew what it was like to play.
Somewhere along the way (did it start in childhood?) I started losing the capacity to play. I mean really let-your-hair-down kind of play. Life seemed to get pretty serious, and I got serious along with it.
As an adult (and I've been an adult for many years), I've had to give myself permission to be playful. To do what I think is fun, just for the sake of finding joy in it. Finding what makes me happy. What makes me come alive.
One of those things for me is writing.
One of them is taking (very amateur) photos with my phone and playing around with instagram filters.
I like to draw, even though I haven't done much really since I'm such a harsh critic.
I like to go "junking" and find old vintage things for cheap to add to my decor.
I like to rearrange furniture and read DIY blogs.
Put on those red sneakers, let your hair down, and dare yourself to be playful. I am.
Is it hard for you to give yourself permission to play?
My name is Anne and I used to have red sneakers.
I also had one of those swing sets. The metal ones with stripes that sat out and rusted in the rain.
That swing set was one of my best companions when I was little. My brother didn't enter the scene till I was six, so I had lots and lots of time to play alone on the farm.
Some of my best memories are just me,
swinging on the swing set,
climbing my favorite tree,
playing with my dog, Prince,
and discovering that my cat Priscilla had kittens in the abandoned chicken house.
I knew what it was like to play.
Somewhere along the way (did it start in childhood?) I started losing the capacity to play. I mean really let-your-hair-down kind of play. Life seemed to get pretty serious, and I got serious along with it.
As an adult (and I've been an adult for many years), I've had to give myself permission to be playful. To do what I think is fun, just for the sake of finding joy in it. Finding what makes me happy. What makes me come alive.
One of those things for me is writing.
One of them is taking (very amateur) photos with my phone and playing around with instagram filters.
I like to draw, even though I haven't done much really since I'm such a harsh critic.
I like to go "junking" and find old vintage things for cheap to add to my decor.
I like to rearrange furniture and read DIY blogs.
What is play for you? What do you do that makes you come alive?
Maybe it's writing for you. Or maybe it's knitting, driving a race car, or gardening.
Whatever it is that makes you come alive and breathe a little easier, do that this weekend.
Is it hard for you to give yourself permission to play?
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