As I roll toward 70, generate lists, and contemplate a vision of where I want to be next year this time, I am aware of the potential to take myself and life's journey far too seriously. Goals can carry more weight than they deserve. I risk seeing my worth as a human being measured in check-marks on a life list. No! That's not why I am paying extra attention to this decadal observance. I want to have fun!
Fun is a lightweight word. We may not take it seriously enough. Is it really worth making a goal in itself? I am thinking so. Fun and games. I am not good at games. I can never remember the rules, and I suck at strategy. So why am I using "games" as a theme for this week's reflection on aging?
I am looking for a fresh paradigm of personal growth, one that incorporates joy. One that sets goals lightly, designs a playing field or game board, generates a few loose rules, and plays a set. Stops. Showers. Eats. And does it again, until the season of play ends or the game loses its appeal or playmates move on to something else.
I have a tendency to play the game of life with an eye to high stakes. I aim for lasting changes that embody ideals of health and happiness. I aspire to stabilizing (without further effort) at my goal body weight, and somehow (though I never have before) taking 10,000 steps a day for the rest of my life. I picture conflict-free, warmly loving, mutually supportive bliss with my sweetie. I envision meaningful and graceful use of time to learn, create, and serve. Always. And more. I set myself on a path of virtue and, sometimes grimly, work hard to stay on track.
Reality has shown repeatedly that I can only approximate a journey of mind, heart, and life that looks like that. The ride is bumpy. Bridges are out. Signs point both ways.
This year, as I approach the Big 7-oh, I am exploring a new metaphor: life as a series of games. I want to shake up old habits and take more risks. Doing so is easier if I see each episode as an experiment, not a commitment. I might play with diverse approaches to eating (types of foods, patterns and portion size, cycles of abstinence, moderation, and indulgence). I will take a yoga class one month and a weight-lifting class the next. This fall, I can augment my music appreciation class with an overdose of concerts. Next winter, we can pick up all the movies we missed in the meantime.
I recently achieved a large-scale, long-term goal: finishing half marathons in half the states. I am replacing that type of goal with a smaller, shorter-term approach to running. I want to, at all times, some sort of running game in play. One at a time. It may include a race in a new state. Or an event that is new-to-me. I could repeat a favorite. It may be a race or it may be a buddy run like last Sunday's 16-miler with Jane. It may be a single event or a pattern, like "streaking" (running or walking at least one mile a day until "x").
Games in my current thinking are different in intensity and duration from goals. They do not foster the illusion of improving my life for decades to come. They do not weigh me down with onerous commitment and unwavering intent. They ask me to try something new with an open mind, to enjoy the novelty, and to celebrate the outcome, whatever it is. And yes, most of all, they are fun.
