(audible sigh of relief from Safiya) "Me too!"
Yesterday we did lots of new things. We tried a new social thing, with mixed results, but we'll try it again to give it another chance. We found a new-to-us park, which was a resounding success because trains run fairly regularly by it, and Zinadine fairly shook with the excitement of it, little fists resonating his delight by his sides.
|watching the train at the park!|
I'm trying little things, like small crafty things to keep my hands busy. New crochet stitches, braiding, small weaving. Easy pick up, easy put down, easy finish. Breaking routine by adding small things, like plant a few flowers instead overhauling the whole garden. Stopping for ice cream on the way to picking up said flowers on a hot spring day because that's a way to do the fun. Ice cream is always fun. Seriously, have you ever had un-fun ice cream? I think not.
|braiding at the park for a new project|
But the fun on top of fun (this is getting ridiculous) is on the inside. Because of this practising shifting my thinking, I've come to treasure my own idea of fun. It's silly, but my past version of someone who is a fun person has always been someone else's version. You know, the person who gets invited to all the parties, the person who can be un-self-consciously silly. As an introvert, trying to be that person is a disastrous idea, and trying to hold yourself up to it is failure-ridden and stressful. However, if I try to think about inviting myself, perhaps myself as a small girl, to have fun, it would probably involve a lot of quiet reading, outside. Maybe with someone else who likes to read. And making things. And serious discussion about the world. And quite possibly some Star Trek. And probably lots of other stuff I haven't thought of yet.
Old boundaries of self. Walking over them is a awkward and uncomfortable at first, but probably way more fun. We'll see.