The party greets me before I reach the porch step.
A happy, rumbling ruckus of clashing conversations, exclamations of laughter, booming music ripples in waves down the driveway, boldly interrupting and playfully teasing the nighttime serenity of the neighborhood street.
The housewarming merriment sparks a cheery aliveness into the white brick cheeks of my friend’s new home, which sits ladylike on a manicured lawn. She’s a darling daydream of a house, a picturesque hostess warmly glowing in the flickering candlelight of lanterns perfectly adorned, like bright earrings, by black front door.
A fresh hiccup of nerves surges from the back of my heart, and I continue to charge forward, to step into a party where I know only the leading lady throwing it. I intentionally stretch into discomfort, into meaningful growth by consistently daring myself to independently lean into creative and social situations that instruct me to just relax and radiate my own authentic self.
Before swinging open the front door that will reveal a shindig already in full swing, I pause, breathe, recommit to myself.
I recommit to befriending myself, to utilizing my improvisation skills to connect, chat, courageously stay open, and then confidently leave when the time is right for me.
(I live by the guidance of Oprah – leave when the party ratings are still high and you’re still having a royally grand time.)
I intend to have fun, so I will have fun, because fun is all attitude, perspective, response.
With that pre-game, straight shot of uplifting and grounding self-talk, I walk heart-open into my Saturday night.
And I have an ultra-fabulous time.
I sing to Back Street Boys and Britney Spears until my voice becomes raspy from crooning remembered lines from my tween days.
I dance and stomp in ankle boots, and shimmy and sway in a jean skirt paired with pink tights and a blue sweater, and delight that I sweetly dared to wear a spontaneously styled ensemble that feels pretty against my skin.
That Saturday night blesses the engaged couple and their first-home with loud karaoke classics. I mingle and meander around two merging friend groups – hers and his – and find friendly, engaging conversationalists who become “in-between songs” confidants. And from an outsider’s distance, I still get to witness the real love that is in this room – couple, friends, their friends, their home enlivened by entertainment, enjoyment, community.
This is my commitment in 2019: to have fun, and to experience fun by allowing myself to enjoy my life.
This is a serious commitment to fun, which is an expression of self-care, self-love; a life-saving decision to reinvigorate and stay closer to living into spirited joy.
I need discipline, attentiveness, honesty, precision to assist in clearly focusing, strengthening and living into my joy, into my fun.
And my fun does not abandon, perpetuate self-destructive habits for my body, heart, soul, and doesn’t shrug off responsibility for the sacred keeping of well-being.
Tending to my well-being is fun.
I review and shift my interpretation with these dignified, pristine, regimented word-rulers. I soften the harshness I use to perceive and stir in my own sweetness.
What if “discipline” is a devotional practice of self-love?
What if “paying attention” flows from a core of great affection?
What if “honesty” is sweetened by compassion?
What if “precision” eradicates self-deprecation, self-criticism, and keenly, sharply reinstates kindness, understanding, intentionality?
The whole hope is to be kindly disciplined in removing toxins and tensions and gently focused on relaxing and receiving the remedies of affectionate attentiveness, adoring action, self-accepting awareness.
So this sugared honesty detects any thought that sours my openness to the present moment at the party.
When self-doubt appears, or an insecurity threatens to steal my precious attention, I breathe and relax. I refocus on receiving this moment of fun, this opportunity to just be and be wildly and calmly alive.
I refuse to fuel worries about being liked and accepted, which is so very human of me. I’m more interested in liking and accepting myself these days and letting that energy attract and foster healthy relationships.
I release the egoistical impulse to dilute my experience with judgments and opinions about others, which all circle back to wormy fears and seething insecurities. I can practice discernment, trust my instincts and act accordingly and still retain my power of presence and compassion for all the stages and ongoing stories of humanity.
So then, I can revel in the party, and practice being present with my needs as I sing along to Lady Gaga (water, I need water, and I guzzle cups of hydration), and say adieu when my heart brims fully with gratitude and my shoes still feel comfortable.
This commitment to fun propels me the next night to dress up in a faux fur coat and scurry out to a nearby park to witness in awe as the eclipse in Leo entertains in shadows and red hues.
The crew of improv friends sip wine from “I Love Jane Fonda” paper cups and take turns marveling at the moon while laughter-lit conversation ensues.
I stay close to lunar loveliness, to luminous friends by recommitting to a practice that keeps me present, steadies me to reign and rejoice from the throne of the heart.
This practice demands diligence, because self-sabotaging tendencies, unchecked patterns that reroute our happiness can easily challenge and throw a revolt.
May I kindly advise to double-down.
We are worthy and deserving of receiving and being wholeheartedly present in our joy. This is a life-practice I am strictly committed to because life softens into glory and possibility when we recommit to choose, see, experience, participate in the wonder, the joy, the beauty of life that orbits within and all around us. There’s a party on the other side of that cosmic door. Be brave in your joy and open it.