I used to love looking into snow globes when I was young. A glimpse into a new world. A place where imagination could run wild. Inside that tiny little globe, there was a sense of infinite possibility. Unicorns could exist. Snowmen could speak. Humans could fly. A child-like sense of joy seemed to always exist there.
Sometimes I ponder why it feels so much easier to see and believe in possibilities in far-off places. Why does possibility seem easier to grasp when gazing into a snow globe than when walking the steps that I take in my own life? My mind ruminates on possibility existing elsewhere, rather than within. My brain likes to believe that the personal pursuit and creation of possibility is intangible. A mere existence only possible in dreams.
I recently joined an adult play cohort. Prompts for journaling and doodling are shared each day. Ten minutes are asked to be spent on each. Ten plus ten. Twenty minutes per day. An experiment to understand and unlock the possibilities of how play can show up in adult life... and how does it feel when it does?
There are 1,440 minutes in a day. It seems that, logically, twenty of those minutes should easily be able to be integrated into play.
Far too often, my logical, surface, zoomed-out perspective of an idea does not play out as I would expect as I am walking along the yellow brick road of my life. In actuality, those twenty minutes cease to happen unless I pencil in the time or tangibly push stop on the busyness that is the nature of my lived-out existence.
This go, go, go - be, be, be - do, do, do mentality that seems to be seeped into the very motion of my life - as if it is as necessary as the blood that flows through my veins - feels nearly impossible to halt.
Like nails to a chalkboard. Like full speed to an abrupt stop. It is uncomfortable to shift away from. It is not easy. It is not as simple as a moment of decision.
What happens when I do make the time? What happens when the motion of life which seems to surround like a movie playing on fast-forward speed is paused? When those twenty minutes are prioritized? When those small moments of playing football with my nephew are actualized? When pumping my legs on the swing with my niece is allowed space in my day? When the thing that may feel silly or be deemed unproductive is prioritized?
I will tell you about my experience...
The first few days it feels iffy. Uncomfortable. Maybe even wrong. Like I am being unproductive and not utilizing my time as I should as an adult.
Those feelings may linger.. for a day, a week, a month or even longer.
The feeling of going against the grain may inflict anxiousness, questioning and doubt. Moments of true overwhelm may exhibit from time to time because I am doing what my understanding of the world tells me to not.
Like walking through a tunnel where darkness and damp concrete surrounds and then you finally see the exit's light... a newfound experience of hope and possibility begins to instill.
You are outside of the snow globe but you are slowly figuring out how to make your way into that world that you desire.
You are following the yellow brick road and can begin to hear the songs of the destination to come.
Maybe, just maybe, you start to believe in the hope and possibility of your own life.
Now, being an adult does not seem so far off from being a child.
Drawing and painting without outcome or ability-level expectation does not feel so wrong. Pausing to write about something that maybe once would have seemed not worthwhile begins to seem more worthwhile than most things in life.
It is a shift. A beautiful one. One to cling to.
Because those understandings that I came to believe for so long in my life so easily creep back in. They can take over if I do not continue my active pursuit of the latter. That makes sense, right? Because they are like deeply dug trenches. So easily we can veer back into what has been so deeply ingrained. It is not so easy to begin a new dig. To take the off-road path.
I want to look at a snow globe, see the possibilities of magical moments and hope that I felt were there as a child, and also be able to believe that those things are possible in my life. To believe in myself. To allow space for that.
For so long, my brain told me that belief in the self would be the product of abiding by the narratives to which I so aggressively subscribed. It is quite a beautiful thing to prove myself wrong in that assumption. It feels magical and whimsical in and of itself.
Possibility does not have to exist only in far-off or rather intangible places. It can be present in the here and now. It is within my fingertips. So, I will choose to make the time for twenty minutes a day… and I will give myself grace when I do not and try again the next day. I will play the game of football. I will stand on the swing when my friends show me how they swung on their swings as a child... and even when it feels wrong or uncomfortable, I will urge myself to do it anyway. What if defying the narrative I once believed is the ticket to the life and the possibilities that I have always imagined?
To the shift of belief.
The active pursuit of the change in pace.
The adoption of play.
To creating a life where the possibilities seen inside of the snow globe can be lived out in the day-to-day.
