Jessica BarnardSummer is supposed to be fun, right? My teens now have their own busy lives, my summer work schedule is flexible. I should be out there doing… Well, I’m not sure exactly what. After so many years centered around family activities, which, if you are lucky, are equal parts work and fun, I’ve lost track of what exactly gratifies me. What is “fun” anyway when you are middle-aged and tired and have such a comfortable backyard hammock?
Spending time with friends is a good place to start figuring out this “fun” thing. On Sunday mornings, we have a regular meet-up at Fresh Pond. Four or five of us show up to enjoy nature, exercise, and, most importantly, talk. We start in on work, kids, and our new sneakers while making the occasional snarky comment about other exercisers. By the time we move through audiobook suggestions and awkward situations from the last week, I am laughing, and magically, we’ve completed the two-mile loop.
This is a touchstone of my week, where I connect with people outside of my family and recharge for the week ahead. But while I feel comfortable and content, I don’t think I’m having “fun.”
If you’re lucky, middle-age is predictable and routine. My fellow Gen X columnist Eric J. Perkins recently wrote about the mental and emotional satisfaction of parkour. Despite, or maybe because of, the physical risks, he assures me it is fun, broken toes and all. So maybe fun needs to have some risk.
Twice a week, I take a barre class — a sneakily strenuous combination of ballet, yoga, and Pilates — and I always wonder if this is the day my legs give out while we hold positions with confusingly agreeable names like Hot Tub or Waterski. With a mostly straight face, our teacher, Emily, says things like, “It’s the pain that bonds us together!” I’m afraid she’s right. This shared discomfort and unpredictability, accompanied by good music and friendly people, might actually count as fun.
When I was 20, fun just happened. The best times were spontaneous adventures unfolding in madcap directions with cameos by memorable strangers along the way. One time, we brought an angry cat in a cardboard box (long story) to dinner at the old Bombay Club restaurant in Harvard Square and hid it under the table while the wait staff glared at us. Fun! We laughed about it for years.
Now, I think this sounds like an unsanitary nightmare. I want to go back in time and apologize to that poor manager who was trying to avoid a scene. But still, I return to that escapade when I think about fun. How can I hold on to the edge of chaos that turns a nice time into a fun time?
So, my Summer of Fun will involve embracing discomfort and allowing space for the unpredictable. When I heard that one of my favorite podcasts was doing a live show in Boston, I thought, “Hmm, going into Boston after dark, plus potentially being forced into audience participation on air, could be fun??”
But when I went online to buy tickets, I learned the show STARTED at 10:30 p.m. That is where I draw the line. The last time I was voluntarily up with a group of adults past midnight was when I was drafted into organizing food for the Belmont High School All Night Party for graduating seniors. I thought I might die around 2 a.m.
Even if my search for fun pushes me to walk on the wild side, I’ll hold Hot Tub until I collapse before I go out that late. These days, nothing fun happens after 10 p.m.
Jessica Barnard writes about Gen X for The Belmont Voice.