This weekend, do something for yourself
A Mother's Day invitation to fill your own cup
If you’ve read my book, The Power of Fun, you’ve heard me talk about the importance of figuring out your “fun magnets”: the people, activities and places that tend to generate fun for you personally.
You also may have heard me talk about how important it is for adults to prioritize and carve out time for our fun magnets, because if we don’t proactively put them on our schedules, adult life will rush in and fill up all available time on our calendars with un-fun things such as “answering work email,” “doomscrolling the news,” and “standing on the sidelines at youth sports.”
I try my best to put my own advice into action, but I will be the first to admit that making time for your fun magnets is hard.
But trust me: it’s worth it. I know this because I’ve been trying to do it myself recently, and it has made a noticeable difference in my mood and energy levels. (And if you don’t believe me, ask my husband.)
An example: swing dancing (or more specifically a type of swing called lindy hop) is one of my personal fun magnets. Not only do I love the music (big band) and the dance itself — which is inherently playful and joyful — but it also reminds me of my grandmother, with whom I was very close.
A couple of months ago, I heard about a day-long swing and jazz event at a club in New York City. It featured three floors of music and dancing, with some of my favorite bands. Even better? It started at 1:30 in the afternoon — which meant I could dance for several hours and get back to Philadelphia in time for my geriatric bedtime.
I knew I would enjoy it. My husband was fine with watching our daughter for the afternoon. I’d even gone so far as to buy both a ticket to the event and a train ticket . . . and yet, as the weekend drew near, I found myself hemming and hawing about whether I was actually going to go.
My hesitation got me thinking: Why is it so easy to say yes to other people — but so hard to say yes to ourselves?
Is it the “save dessert for last” mentality that many of us have been trained to adopt (especially if we score highly on the conscientiousness scale)? Or is it the countless “shoulds” that accompany adult life (very few of which involve prioritizing our own fun)? Or is it the feeling that we don’t deserve to — or that it’s wrong to — prioritize our own joy?
I suspect the reasons vary from person to person. But what I can tell you, without any doubt, is that we should cast our hesitations to the wind and just do it. We should put ourselves first, at least once in a while. We should — both metaphorically and, if possible, literally — go dancing in the middle of the day.
Because here’s what happened: I did end up going to the dance festival. I took the train to New York, walked up to the club where the dance festival was happening, and snuck into the ladies’ room to change into my dance clothes (and shoes) before climbing the stairs to the first ballroom.
As soon as I entered the room, I was reminded of one of my favorite things about New York: how there can be entire worlds, entire cultures, entire experiences happening in the buildings you pass — and you would never know unless you walked inside. For example, if you were to stroll past this particular building, you would have never suspected that there was a three-story party going on inside, with an inter-generational mix of people in their 20s through their 80s, dressed in period attire, dancing to some of the best big band musicians in the world. But that’s exactly what was happening—and I was now a part of it.
There’s always a moment in the beginning of a dance where you wonder if you’re actually going to do it — switch out of your normal, closed-off adult mindset and dance with strangers — but then once you’re in it, you’re in it, and before long it becomes impossible to remember why you ever thought you wouldn’t be spending your Sunday afternoon this way, and why you wouldn’t, in an ideal circumstance, be spending all your Sunday afternoons doing exactly this: dancing to live music, out of your head and fully in your body, blissfully liberated from all of your adult worries and responsibilities, one four-minute song at a time.
This freedom, this sense of letting go, is one of the most powerful aspects of what I call “true fun” (to distinguish it from the hollow, mind-numbing “fake” fun that comes from consuming entertainment on a smartphone). And wow, is it nourishing. It’s so nourishing, in fact, that as I write this post nearly three weeks later, I feel energized just thinking back on my memory of that afternoon.
My favorite musician at the event (and actually my favorite musician to dance to, period), is a pianist named Gordon Webster, who often performs with a singer named Hannah Gill. Over the years that I’ve heard them perform together, I’ve realized that one of my absolute favorite things in the world — one of the things that consistently generates peak, true fun for me — is dancing to their version of a song called Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen.
I was on my way out into the hall to get a glass of water when I heard Gordon play the first chords of the intro, and I immediately turned around and walked back in the room, in search of someone to dance with. (One cannot let this song go to waste, no matter how thirsty one might be.) My eyes fell on a young man sitting on the side of the room, who — despite the fact that I hadn’t seen him on the dance floor — was giving off the vibe of someone who knew what he was doing.
One of the glorious things about social dancing is the fact that there is an unspoken code that if someone asks you to dance, you usually say yes. And so when I asked this young man (whose name I later learned was Bobby) if he wanted to dance, there was a fair amount of pressure on young Bobby to respond affirmatively to the invitation from the middle-aged lady standing before him.
And so we danced, Bobby and I, and it turned out that my premonition was correct: he was an excellent leader. As the music built, we were perfectly in sync, kicking together, swinging out (a hallmark move of the lindy hop) and playfully responding to the music. As we were doing so, I had an extended moment where I realized, in this moment, on this dance floor, I am happy. I feel alive.
Soon after that song, the set ended and I switched back into my street clothes and rushed back to Penn Station. (It was very “Cinderella leaving the ball,” except in this case Cinderella had been wearing dance sneakers, changed back into jeans, and picked up her backpack from coat check.)
By the time I got home, my watch said that I had moved a total of 15 miles that day and climbed 160 flights of stairs (the lindy hop is a very bouncy dance!).
But I didn’t feel tired. I felt energized and alive. The following week, that energy lingered. I felt more present in my life. I felt more connected to my husband and daughter. And I felt re-committed to prioritizing my own fun.
This feels like a particularly appropriate story to share this week because this Sunday is Mother’s Day, and I know that a lot of people in our community are moms. If that describes you, I encourage you to ask yourself: What’s something that would fill you up? And how can you give yourself (and perhaps ask your partner to help you give yourself) that gift?
If you’re not a mom, I still encourage you to ask yourself the same questions. What are you craving or missing these days? What might feel nourishing? What’s an activity that you used to love, but that you haven’t done for a long time? What’s holding you back? Is there a way to re-engage with it in the coming week or month, even if it’s only for a few hours?
For my part, I was inspired to try to bring more dance into my life. Just this past week, I made good on that promise by going to an introductory balboa class (more on that in a coming newsletter), and this weekend I am risking personal injury and a possible ER visit by attending an adult figure skating camp. (!!!!)
So what are you going to do? What’s one thing you’d be curious, even mildly, about doing or trying? And (regardless of whether you’re a mom), how could you use this weekend as an excuse to give yourself permission to spend some time on it?
If you do or try something, please report back — I’m genuinely interested in hearing about your experience.
And I promise to report back as well on whether I make it through the skate camp intact.
For now, here’s to scrolling less, living more, and doing things for ourselves once in a while,
PS: Last year, I shared a Mother’s Day essay titled, “In Praise of Mom Jeans.” I have since heard that low-rise jeans are back in style, a sartorial trend of which I heartily disapprove. Here is that essay, in case you, too, refuse to give up the joys of the high-waisted pant.
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I love this! You capture the absolute life affirming joy of live music and dancing so perfectly, it really made me remember why I loved dancing too- and that it's been a while (years now) since I did any.
I really want to go to a roller disco! I've never been to one before. I'm 35. That somehow feels simultaneously too old and too young to be at one...! Not sure why. It would also be a faff to organise. But this substack has really made me think about actually making it happen!
That hemming and hawing about going even though everything is fully organised? I totally felt that... That was me a few months ago considering whether or not I should postpone my hike (again) because I had a sick kid at home and the weather wasn't favourable, even though I was getting more pregnant by the day and it wouldn't be feasible to postpone. So glad I went!
This mother's day I'm feeling a bit lost about what my fun magnets are. Having just (not even 48 hours old!) had a baby, all the things that normally fill me with joy (like hiking and massages) currently fill me with ouch. I might have to settle for a tub of ice cream and guilt free time reading my book