13
Fall in Love

Usually, when the distractions of daily life deplete our energy, the first thing we eliminate is the thing we need the most: quiet, reflective time. Time to dream, time to contemplate what’s working and what’s not, so that we can make changes for the better.

—Sarah Ban Breathnach

I have been struggling internally with my own need for creative expression and the forms that expression wants to take. I believe so entirely in letting myself run free creatively, but then, when it comes to certain forms of this expression—like in my home, for example—sometimes it feels frivolous. That’s the word that jumped out of my mouth, anyway, when I was talking to Beth-with-Dreads.

I told her how much of a dilemma I’d been feeling around my home: feeling restless, wanting to make some changes, moving toward those changes, getting paralyzed, and then frustratingly dropping the entire enterprise. Only to have the whole longing resurface, this time with more energy behind it. This is the cycle.

I brought all this up to Beth because she helps guide me through my internal tensions, and she said, “Why do you feel you need to stop yourself from thinking about making changes to your home?”

And without thinking, the following tumbles out: “Because it’s frivolous.”

Her eyes open significantly wider as she says, “And frivolous is a bad thing?”

“Yes, obviously,” I say back.

And now I’m caught in her trap.

“Leeana, I wonder if this is the word that might lead you home. I wonder,” Beth continues, “if you might spend some time with the word frivolous and see what you find out. I think there’s something that needs to be honored here.”

“Oh Beth,” I want to say, smiling, “would it be OK if I punched you?”

At first I assumed she was making way too big a deal out of the word. I just spit it out. It wasn’t like it was the real truth or anything. But I decided I would spend some time with “frivolous” just to appease her.

During my next twenty minutes of soul time, I wrote “frivolous” at the top of my legal pad, and I made a list of things that felt frivolous and, also, desirous. The entire exercise seemed simultaneously dumb and important.

I look up frivolous in the dictionary and find the definitions that seem to be saying something to me: “silly, trifling, empty, worthless, broken, crumbled, of little weight or importance, so clearly insufficient.”1

And then I hear this question: “Leeana, do you feel that you are frivolous?” And I wonder if this is the question all along. I can’t participate in frivolous things because it might mean I am silly, empty, worthless, of little weight or importance.

I look up more synonyms and definitions: “not having any serious purpose or value, irrelevant, jokey, foolish, superficial, shallow.”

When I read the word irrelevant, I feel as though I’ve been hit. Isn’t that one of my greatest fears? I have a friend who told me that her whole life she has felt “adjunct,” which means “useful, but not necessary.” Pardon me while I break out in hives.

What is so necessary to me about having this sense of gravitas, legitimacy, relevance? Do I believe something I could do or produce will deliver the belief for me and others that I am weighty and important?

I look up more synonyms and definitions: “self-indulgently carefree, unconcerned about or lacking any serious purpose.”

And here’s where things got kind of weird.

When I was in graduate school, I had a choice between a program in creative writing and one in literature. I chose literature because, obviously, people don’t become writers. That’s ridiculous. People become teachers. That’s what real adults do. I chose the practical choice; the one that I believed was more legitimate, perhaps.

But not only that. I also chose the path that seemed safer, more doable. A sure bet. Looking back, I wonder if I shut down a piece of myself to make that decision. I wonder if it ever occurred to me that I could pursue whatever I wanted to, and that I couldn’t make a wrong decision in that moment.

Somewhere along the way, that inventive little girl inside me got inoculated with the belief that she could create, but it better have a purpose. It better not be frivolous. Because I must, at all costs, avoid being irrelevant. You’re probably way ahead of me on this; when we work out of this place, we are working to secure what we already have and what will never be delivered to us through our productivity.

I keep reading more about frivolous. Its origin is around 1425–1475, and it comes from late Middle English meaning “to crumble.”2

unworthy of serious attention

trivial

inappropriately silly

not serious or sensible in content, attitude, or behavior

unworthy of serious or sensible treatment

unimportant

not worthy of serious notice

superficial

pointless

minor

Some of us have staked our sense of self on whatever it takes to “not crumble.” We’re hooked into the need to know that what we’re saying, doing, offering matters. It’s our worst fear to be unworthy of serious attention. Until one day we realize how exhausting it is to strive so relentlessly. We hear God’s whisper:

“Leeana, what if you stopped trying to be so worthy? What if you stopped focusing on your relevance? What if you stopped trying to secure your own meaningfulness? What if you let yourself crumble?”

Um, no thanks. But just for fun . . . how?

“Be frivolous, again and again. Dabble in the garden I have given you. What do you love?” Hmmm, well . . .

I love the winter beach

I love fires in the fireplace

I love boots

I love ideas

I love feeling inspired

I love feeling decisive

I love naps

I love humor

I love texture

I love interesting clothes

I love space

I love rural France

I love being lost in my own world

I love being deeply connected

I love eating charcuterie outside in the summer

I love being on a team

I love the names Delphine and Valentina

I love a Christmas baby

I love Steve’s skin

I love green eyes

I love chips and salsa

I love the Chargers

I love bougainvillea

I love fuchsia and aqua

I love pea gravel

I love a fountain

I love black and white

I love laughing with my family

I love Scrabble

I love an earthy, tobacco-y red wine

I love crab legs

I love metallics

I love kraft paper

I love ceviche with lots of acid

I love a rib eye like Steve makes it

I love my vanilla perfume

I love galvanized metal

I love hot showers

I love black bikinis

I love white interiors

I love faux fur

I love Project Runway

I love getting lost (or found) in a book

I love the rain

I love poetry

I love henna

I love tennis

I love documentaries on famous chefs

I love Northern California

I love, I love, I love . . .

“Run toward what you love with unapologetic abandon. Fall in love with your life, Leeana, instead of trying to make something of it. You already have everything you’ve ever wanted. Now go enjoy it.”

This is the whisper that penetrates my soul.

And then I wonder, What if it’s true? What if I lived into the “already” of my life, and spent more time and energy exploring the garden I’ve been given? What if I sat in the center of what I have and asked God to show me what is already here, for my pleasure? What if I were free? What if I am free?

Does this feel too good to be true? Way too frivolous to be possible?

“Go, Leeana, go. Go to the studio of your soul. Slip off your big turquoise ring and put it in the beautiful bowl by the stack of canvases. Climb into your overalls. Put your hands in all the vibrant paints and play. Get lost in the garden I’ve already given you. You have everything you need.

“I’m here . . . waiting for you.”

Reflection & Expression

Make a list of outings or activities that seem frivolous to you and yet would fill you up.

What have you already been given?

For Your Brazen Board

Include an image of something you love.

Add something you deem “frivolous.”