“Remember when we stole a truck?” My college friend Gillian asked me this question with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. My answer was yes. I vividly remember when eons ago, as undergrads, we stole a truck.
Let me explain.
One night when we were celebrating Friday at a campus fraternity party, college-girl-style, we walked out the door and spotted a clunky delivery truck idling curbside.
It was the kind of truck with an open driver-side door (UPS-style), and as its motor hummed, Gillian lit up with an impulsive idea. “Let’s take that truck for a ride around the block!” Lacking fully developed prefrontal cortexes, it seemed like a giddily good idea.
So, we did.
The truck nestled back into its parking place on the street, and the driver (where was he?) never knew his truck clocked an extra third of a mile on a mini joy ride. No harm done. But the story lives on.
We share other crazy college stories that transport us into a time and place far removed from our current lives. Rehashing them now invokes a head-shaking nostalgia for younger days. We give ourselves permission to slip back into different versions of ourselves. Less rigid. More rowdy. Less careful. More carefree.
It also begs the question, where does the fun go?
As our brains mature, and we wedge ourselves firmly into adulthood, does the fun fade away? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. First, with a contemplative resignation. Where did our carefree selves go? And when did it happen?
At first blush, nothing seems gradual. Do we transform overnight from young and go-with-the-flow (treating each day as a fun factory) to older, responsible, scheduled people with busy calendars and overflowing to-do lists?
Many days, fun might feel hard to come by. Who has time with the kids, the spouses, the jobs, the homes, the need for exercise, the need for sleep, our friends focused on self-care, and our parents focused on health care?
Life muddles along, and things change. I’d say David Bowie sums it up well, “Ch-ch-changes, Turn and face the strange, Ch-ch-anges.” We rarely notice how different things become. Until we do.
Here’s another (albeit very different) example. After my premature daughter was born, my husband and I endured a long stretch during which going out gave way to staying in. Date nights no more. And as it always does when you’re smack dab in the middle of a moment, that stage seemed like it would last forever.
After things settled down with my daughter’s health, my mom offered to give us a break, and we took her up on it. If you’re guessing that we snagged a reservation at a special restaurant, saw a movie or a show, or gathered with a group of friends—you guessed wrong. Nope.
The first thing we did felt oddly blissful. Unencumbered and carefree, we loaded a big red cart with all the essentials. Yes, we went on a Target run. It was a lovely and leisurely outing, no rushing whatsoever.
And we had lots of fun.
Thinking about these wildly different incidents (a random truck and a Target run) has led me to a new conclusion on the matter. Fun never fades away. It just gets redefined.
In my current life, although I’ll happily launch into nostalgia with Gillian, I have no interest in jumping into a running delivery truck for a spin around the block. Now that our brains have fully developed, that doesn’t jazz us up anymore, thank goodness.
Likewise, I no longer feel victorious after a Target run with my dear husband. My daughter is an adult—that ship of excitement has sailed.
As we get older, we gain clarity that our current moments won’t last forever. But at every stage, fun (however we define it) is available. So, let’s make sure we keep our focus on redefining the fun, and whatever form that takes, soak it in.