Natural Born Fun Hater
I hope this comes as a surprise to some…but I am a naturally born fun hater. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. So much so, that I have the words “Seriousness looks shitty on you.” as one of my daily reminders.
From as early as I can remember I took life very seriously. I always valued rules and authority, and I couldn’t wait to grow up and have both of my own. Though I’ve always loved to laugh and experience joy, I still preferred controlled fun when it came to play. I often needed parameters, standards for behavior, and a description of expectations prior to letting myself enjoy an experience.
In many ways, I resented my youth. While I am blessed to say that I had a wonderful childhood; I can’t recall a time when I didn’t want to be older than I was. It makes me sad to say this now, but I honestly wanted nothing more than to be respected and responsible for my own life, and the world (rightfully so) told me that I couldn’t do that until I was older.
Looking back now—having met people who were required to be responsible long before they should have been asked— I realize this was an immature notion and a luxury of my own safe upbringing, but nonetheless, my adolescent pride longed for what I couldn’t/shouldn’t have.
I was therefore forced to invest in the only resource within my control: my reputation.
I spent a lot of my life striving to never get in trouble, never color outside the lines (literally and figuratively) and most definitely NEVER act my age. I revered my moral compass, and I loved nothing more than when people would call me mature or wise beyond my years. I hated the times when people would tell me to “lighten up” and relax because taking myself too seriously was exactly what I thought being an adult was all about. I clung to my identity of being a “good Christian girl” like an idol, and God knew He had to find a way for me to let it go.
That’s when He had me join a random Bible Study my senior year of high school that was primarily comprised of college-aged, country cowboys (potentially a mother’s worst nightmare).
This experience challenged my entire understanding of what it meant to grow up, become an adult, and even more so a “good Christian.”
I had no box to fit this group of this group of people into, and it fascinated me.
Legend has it that Bible Study started at 6:30 every Thursday night, and yet week after week no one showed up till 8. Then the study would begin and this group of guys (that could have easily been misunderstood for not caring at all, considering they were quite literally an hour and a half late) would actually participate, share, challenge and question what was being taught. They’d tell these wild stories about horse wrecks, late nights, road trips, buck-offs, bull fights, and long days. Though they seemed like parables and metaphors to me, it was their actual real-life experiences that caused them to relate to Jesus’ teachings. They were connecting with the actual stories of the bible, not just reading them, then immediately following the closing prayer; the first hand of poker would be dealt.
They’d pour thick, black cups of coffee well into the night, and about every 30 minutes someone would throw another log on the fire, as if they all understood that the night had just begun…
About the time I would need to leave to make it home by curfew, they would decide to pack themselves into a couple of trucks and head to Waffle House. The idea that it was midnight on a weekday took up no space in the minds of these individuals—in fact it was a completely reasonable time for a person to enjoy ANOTHER cup of coffee, a cheap steak and few waffles with some friends.
The only way I could describe them was that they were present. The entire culture had a way of drawing people into their stories, and it was truly endearing, not just for me, but for so many people they interacted with.
They’d joke with their waitress until she was offering dessert on the house and make friends with the cook behind the grill to the point where he was searching for the biggest steaks in the fridge. When the weather was nice, it was a common occurrence for the crew to walk across the Waffle House parking lot to take a dip in the Best Western pool. Eventually they’d be greeted by a frantic receptionist who aimed to inform them that the pool area was strictly permitted for HOTEL GUESTS ONLY. Yet in the end she would inevitably be offering them complimentary towels and warm-ups on their to-go cups of coffee from next door.
Seemingly, they took very little seriously. Themselves, others, the world, its rules, its standards and its expectations, yet they took the responsibility of living itself very seriously.
The story goes that I fell in love with one of those cowboys around one of those fires, and overtime I learned to lighten up and relax because well, we would’ve never made it work otherwise.
Nowadays, the older I get, the more I question whether I’m old enough to be an adult. No one around me takes me as seriously as I once longed for, and if they ever do, I hope I’m there to remind myself to lighten up yet again. I realized hating fun is no fun at all, and being a Christian looks a lot more imperfect than I ever imagined it would. Even after 3 decades under my belt, I still have to continually remind myself that the only identity worth clinging to is being a child of God. Now isn’t that ironic? The very thing I never wanted to be is the only thing I can trust that I am—a CHILD. Life’s a funny thing…