today I did something I'd thought about doing, wanted to do, planned to do, intended to do, and somehow never did do last fall when the weather was cool and perfect for it . . .
I hopped my butt on a swing, and pumped myself up and up and swung away to my heart's delight.
one of my flaws is that I don't play enough. I somehow got it into my head at a young age that life was serious and I needed to work hard at it, and this has colored my entire life. playing doesn't come easily to me; there's a deeply held belief that tells me there is always work to be done, don't forget.
when I try to make lists of what would be fun, what would bring me joy, what could be called play, I find myself sitting and staring at a blank paper for much longer than should be necessary. when I tried this experiment sometime late last summer, the first (okay, and just about only) thing that leapt to mind when I was searching for something that I would consider fun, was to swing.
to get myself on one of those plastic or rubber seats, wrap my arms around the metal chains that supported the seat, and push myself skyward.
I love to swing.
and a good half year after I made my (brief) list, I finally got myself there.
and I pumped and pulled and soared, straightening my legs then tucking them under for the backwards flight, and leaned back and closed my eyes and felt the pure joy of flying in air.
I love to swing.
the kids on the soccer field barely noticed me, and probably wouldn't have noticed at all except for the horrific squeak my chains made with each forward motion I made.
my daughter looked over and waved, and didn't make fun of me later.
it's possible the no one cared that I was swinging.
and it really doesn't matter, because I was happy to be doing it, feeling the fresh air rush past and remembering what it was like to be so caught up in the joy of doing something that nothing else mattered.
it was fun.
and I love to swing.