Lake McDonald, GNP

Aries and I at Lake McDonald in December. Thank you, Sarah!

Play

Yesterday a group of friends and I held our annual sledding party on a private drive north of Columbia Falls. The weather was less than perfect.  There was an adequate base of snow but the day was unusually warm and rainy for January in Montana. This did not dampen our enthusiasm. Chili was cooked, a bonfire lit and the roadway groomed to a glistening sheen. Each year we celebrate our host’s birthday by pulling out the runner sleds that he collects and race neck and neck down the hill. There is a very large bend in the road and some of the sleds steer better than others. The contests often look more like bumper cars than races. I wonder how far the laughter and shouting can be heard as we barrel into a pile up. A four wheeler with a long rope pulls the willing participants back up the road at the end of the trip. This is a luxury we enjoy as adults. By adults, I mean there is no one in the group younger than 55 years old. If you close your eyes and listen, it sounds like any sledding hill filled with children.

I lie on my stomach and hold the wooden bars with my soggy mittens. I taunt my opponent as I slide back and forth revving my machine, loosening the runners from the slush that is forming. Then it’s off down the hill. My face is only about four inches from the glazed road, the sled making a crunching sound as it flies over the ice. I scream to my friend to “watch out” as she weaves into my lane. I am gaining on her but the bend is coming; if she takes the turn too wide we are going to crash. Her grandson, who is snowboarding along the edge, dives out of the way. Somehow we make it around the turn without a collision. We high five each other at the end when we see we have set a new record for distance this trip. My friend and I trudge back up the hill pulling our sleds since everyone else has disappeared to watch the football playoffs.

Sledding makes me feel like I am eight years old again. In our youth, we used to toboggan downhill in snowy pastures. We didn’t have a smooth road for runner sleds. The exhilaration is the same now as before -wind in your face, sounds of sled over packed snow, teasing, laughing, wet clothes, and matted hat hair – all good for the soul.

My dog, Aries, played all day with other dogs and youngsters who threw snowballs for her to catch. The children built snow forts and waged snowball fights with the adults. I think about all the ways that people and animals have of playing, actions that are simply for enjoyment; no purpose; no agenda.

My sister and I took a vacation to Sedona a couple years ago. After about our fourth day of hiking, she sat on a stump and said, “You go ahead and do your thing. I’ll be right here when you get back.” I was totally bewildered. She said, “You told me we were going to relax and have fun, but we keep hiking every day.” I was so totally absorbed in the rock, the beauty and the warmth of the sun, it never dawned on me that this was not her idea of play. I enjoy physical activity – kayaking, hiking, swimming and riding my horse. Sometimes, I like to just sit in a place of grandeur like Glacier, the ocean, a forest or the lake. After awhile, I need to move again. Taking her desires into consideration, my sister and I reached an amicable compromise.

Currently in middle age, my friends and I are exploring hobbies and opportunities to play. The kids are grown and gone. We are and have been conscientious, hard working and focused. It won’t be long and we will have more time on our hands. Now what? It has been so many years of being the responsible adult that I struggled to make a list in my journal of what I consider play. That cracks me up. To get my list, I play the game with myself, If I were King. That means letting my imagination go. If money or time was not a limitation, what would I enjoy the most? It’s a pleasurable exercise. I see myself visiting my daughters more often, taking excursions to the ocean, riding my horse into the mountains and writing stories. Just envisioning these activities makes me happy.

Our perception dictates our definition of play. A rancher friend of mine needed a hand to help move cows to summer pasture. To him, it was work. To me, it was glorious play. This does not mean I did not take my role seriously. I moved when and where directed.  I pushed; I guided; I ran back and gathered stragglers. Other times, I guarded dirt paths that could become an escape route. This was not an ordinary task for me. It was filled with excitement and camaraderie. I was definitely playing.

When I returned home last night, I listened to a webinar online as I cooked my dinner. The speaker mentioned “sacred playfulness”. He said it was a source of creative inspiration. That term has been running through my mind. When we can let go and play, relax, be in the moment, have fun without any expectations – we are in a place of openness. We are happy and joyful. This is where we are one with Spirit. Ideas, insights and motivation flow into our being. Guidance is delivered when we are not blocking and over thinking. The silliness of yesterday’s activities is still in my heart. I allow myself to be inspired, to create without purpose. I am giving myself permission to simply enjoy the writing of this story for my own pleasure.

I am fortunate to have a job that is rewarding. There are many times in my day that if I just slow down and become aware, I experience pure joy. Nothing makes me happier than to help others be successful tending their land, to see a child grow their first vegetable, or feel that I have contributed to protecting our environment. Sure, I can see it as work and then it creates a feeling of drudgery. If I look at it as doing exactly what I would be doing If I were King, it makes my heart soar. I am surrounded by the magnificence of the mountains, the spectacular reflections in the lake and the endless fields of wheat as I travel around the valley carrying on my duties. As I head into 2014, I will make room for more play in my life. It is all in my mind.  The way I look at my everyday activities will determine whether I see them as a chore or not. I will seek joy and share it with the community I serve. I invite you to add more play to your life and encourage your friends to do the same. 

Saturday morning

Sometimes I have to laugh at myself. This morning I realized why I live in a little cabin way out of town. I am a country girl through and through. In the middle of frying  a couple eggs, I noticed a chickadee hanging from an empty feeder outside the window. Already donning a red flannel shirt over my nightgown, I pulled on my Cornell sweatpants, shoved my feet into my old LL Bean pack boots and threw on my carhartt jacket.  My reflection in the window reminded me why I need to live where you can't see your neighbor's house. There are no fashion police out here. 

I will never be mistaken for a Diva and that is OK. I can and do put on red lipstick, a skirt and boots on Friday nights but oh I love Saturday mornings being snowed in the cabin. I can be me through and through.