Why I battle with being 'fun'

Or am starting to realise I can't change and it's okay anyway

I can count the times I have been ‘fun’ on one hand. When I was in primary school I was often sent to the head teacher because I had a wild imagination and would make up stories and convince my friends they were true. That was a form of fun I guess.

I told them my parents were Benny and Agnetha from Abba and that I’d been adopted by my current parents because my real ones were too busy touring the world.

I said I was dating Robert Palmer (this was a bit weird as he was obviously pretty old and not someone the average primary school kid had heard of).

I said I owned a helicopter and had my own licence to fly home to Sweden to see my real parents.

I did impressions of Dolly Parton until I was red in the face (based on watching Kenny Everett- the iconic TV comedian). Then later when I hit my teens I took up the drink and I was always in the middle of the fun. Dancing. Swearing. Making a bee line for the boy everyone told you to avoid like the plague. I often fell over. I am glad no social media existed of this time. I once hit a friend over the head with a hair brush because I said her foundation was too orange. I was a monster. But a fun one (my friends might have disagreed but I told myself they were jealous of my energy).

Then later, when I moved to Amsterdam, and went out even more, with even more hedonism under my belt, my appetite for fun diminished. I became the one who was tidying up. The one who was worrying about not sleeping, and how bad I’d feel the next day. The one who was thinking about dinner at breakfast time. Who was hoovering at four in the morning when friends were lying stoned on the floor talking about how great ‘The Orb,’ were.

Then at university later on (when I got back onto the straight and narrow), I observed fun but struggled to get right up inside it. Even when I drank I’d be doing those calculations on the impact it would have. How I’d be waking up at three and feeling terrible. How the boy I was kissing was a bad idea so why didn't I stop now instead of doing it and then worrying about it later?

Thinking about it logically I’ve had maybe 15% fun across my entire life, and the rest has been spent worrying, planning, regretting, ruminating, resenting, raging, wishing, hoping, trying, working, thinking, forgetting, coveting, consuming, loving…the list goes on.

What happened?

Well a therapist would maybe say that the trauma I suffered in my early teens only started to surface later in my life. Or maybe that my true self and my authentic values started to show by the time I hit my twenties, and ‘fun’ just wasn’t one of those things on my list. It is however something I miss. Or feel like I should be having more of. Like green smoothies, and the ability to make sushi, and create pancakes that don’t burn. Or to have a home that is tidy with a skid-free toilet bowl.

Fun is one of those things that we all feel like we should have more of right?

I have low grade fun when I make reels on Instagram- this is definitely something I enjoy and helps access the less think-y side of my brain.

I can also laugh about things that the kids do. But when I say FUN, I mean the kind of fun that helps you forget where you are, where you gurgle in the back of your throat and water squirts out your nose, wetting your pants, that kind of fun. Instead I feel like I permanently have a hoover in one hand, and am telling everyone that the party is over, and that they need to go home so I can tidy up the mess.

As I’ve aged I’ve also noticed that on typically ‘fun’ occasions I get the inclination to point out what isn’t right.

‘This band is shit.’

‘The drinks are too expensive.’

‘My shoes are rubbing.’

‘I’m tired and want to go to bed now.’

That’s the thing with fun. It often requires a level of discomfort. Queues. Travel. Planning. Different shoes. Bad smells. Noise. Other people. Chaos. I’m just not up for those things. The conditions for fun to happen.

Around my kids I have also become a fully fledged member of the ‘No Fun Police.’ I hate the mess. Perhaps I even resent the fact that they can have so much fun and not care. I hate myself when I’m like this, but I’m also aware that I feel comfortable with order. How do I create fun whilst also maintaining this order?

Over the weekend I was watching Glastonbury like millions of other people and wondering why I wasn’t there, but also wondering how come so many of the audience were having BIG FUN.

A young rapper (I can’t even recall his name because I am so old that certain genres of music are passing me by now), was on stage and teens were pushing one another out of the way, and climbing onto one another's shoulders, and there was pure joy all over their faces. Then the camera zoomed into a different face. It was a middle aged woman, wearing a sun hat, her nose scrunched up and squinting, she was (I imagined) accompanying her teenage daughter, and I could see from her expression that this woman was struggling. She wasn’t having fun. She was thinking how many minutes it would take her to find a toilet, how she hadn’t packed any wet wipes and her thighs were chafing, how she was dehydrated but couldn’t leave her spot or she’d never find her daughter again. I wanted to reach through the TV and hold her hand.

‘It’s okay,’ I’d say, ‘I have trouble with this too. I applaud your effort, at least you’re trying.’

She’d smile, reassured that she wasn’t alone. That she wasn’t the only one looking forward to bedtime. To a nice shower with an aromatherapy oil on a flannel held up to her face. To clean sheets that have just come out of the tumble drier. To clambering into bed with a good book.

‘I honestly have tried,’ she’d say, ‘I can see others doing it but it’s just not for me.’

‘I know,’ I’d reply, ‘Listen you’re at the biggest music festival in the world. I noticed the Chicken Katsu curry stuck to your elbow. Well done! You’ve done enough. Let’s go home now, have some beans on toast and watch reality TV.’

We’d hold hands and move through the crowds. They’d part in front of us because we were choosing to leave the most fun thing in the world. They’d be full of bewilderment but also maybe a little bit of awe too.

‘I’m so fucking tired,’ she’d say, ‘My thighs have been rubbing together all day.’

‘I see you. I’ve got some wipes in my bag. I’ll drive slow. We can have an early night and nobody will care.’

And off we’d drive. The no fun twins. Perfectly and blissfully happy.