Now, when I go for that purchase in January, I have a strong awareness of what I’m being drawn towards. In 2009, I had a calendar with images of Buddhist sculptures throughout Asia. Then, last September, while exploring Swayambhunath Temple high in hills above Kathmandu, I realized that I was standing face to the face with the exact statue of Buddha that I had been staring at on my calendar a few months prior. Needless to say, that was an impressive moment.
I assumed I’d have another Buddhist inspired calendar since it’s always on mind. However, the calendar I chose for 2010 was of humorous, playful vintage images of women from the 1940’s with empowering quotes that celebrate feminine nature and the shared relationships between women. I put it up on the wall and it made me smile. I had no idea what I was in for…
As if the universe knew the exact moment I hung that new calendar up on my wall, I was suddenly playing back-to-back host to some of the most enriching female friendships of my life. It started with a visit from Melissa, a best friend from high school who spent the holidays with me before she moved to Hawaii from D.C. Then came Caroline from New York City, my yogic comrade and fellow spiritual adventurer. Then came Jeanna who, with her 3-year old and husband camped out in my living room with sleeping bags on Valentines Day. Then came Jasmine, my roommate from Bennington College who I hadn’t been able to see for any length of time in almost 12 years! I gave these women the other half of my bed and I suddenly remembered all the sleepovers I used to have. I remembered staying up too late to talk about things that are worth staying up late for. I remembered holding them when they needed to be held. I made them brownies. They made me laugh. We shared stories of the mystical. We shared stories of the mundane.
But most obviously, the profound intimacy I share with these women reconnected me with something I had forgotten as soon as my plane landed on U.S. soil from my recent trip to Nepal. I FORGOT HOW TO PLAY. When Caroline burst into my sunny apartment last January she sounded our new era: “Girl. It’s time to PLAY.” And play, because we could now. Play because we had witnessed each other overcome so many dark, delusional moments with daily yogic effort and spiritual prowess. We were now basking in a lot more light and a lot more wisdom. Our attachments had lessened. Our compassion had increased. We had kicked down a few major walls and while we have a few more to go, the buoyancy was, and is, apparent. The kind of play I speak of is not some muddy form of distraction, but rather an expression of joy. This is the sort of play that connects us deeper to spirit. It is a play that is the natural outgrowth of our whimsical sensibilities, reverence for life and quite frankly, of love.
In addition to daily laughter, dancing and discussion, Caroline and a few new friends came over for a night of music making and singing by candlelight. We beat on drums, played the guitar, rang the chimes, played the singing bowl, chanted and sang. Intermission included eating star fruit and giving each other healing massages and bodywork. Even the rough moments had a sense of humor: After Caroline ran to the bathroom to vomit after catching the flu that had kept me in bed sucking on sugar-free popsicles for several days, she exclaimed, “Girl, we are down!” And we just started giggling at the absurdity of it all. We were down, but in other ways, we were way, way, up.
As soon as Jasmine got into my car when I picked her up at the airport she said, “You look good.” And I replied, “Girl, any light you see, is light I’ve WORKED for. I’ve worked for this light!” And we burst into laughter. Jasmine and I reinstituted a few old Bennington College traditions, including spontaneous pajama dance parties to Crimson & Clover by Tommy James & The Shondells as well sneaking to turn each other’s shower water on ice cold while mid-shower. Of course, this lovely tradition is followed by screams and then light-hearted threats. As Jasmine and I looked back at old photos of us together when we were 18, it really hit home that play is truly a celebration of life, and an expression of not taking our daily gifts for granted. We both felt we were in a position to celebrate in a way we hadn’t before, and we didn’t want to waste anymore time.
While basking in the glow of my village of women, I asked myself: Why do so many women suddenly lose these moments to the oncoming march of “maturity.” Why don’t we kick our partners out of our beds, for a night with our best friend? Or at least pitch a tent in the living room to enjoy a magical world with our special confidant? Why do women allow themselves to become isolated islands flanked by an ocean of responsibilities? Who made the rule that maturity means we should live top-heavy, responsibility-laden lives with little time for friendship and play and why are so many women practicing it? I think, unconsciously, if we see a common formula of what we are told a mature woman looks like, we assume it’s around because it’s successful, but honestly, I just don’t think that is the case.
I know too many women who feel trapped by their big homes, big cars, multi-tasking and consumer culture madness. So many women who are in bondage to an “idea” of what they think a mother, wife or woman should be instead of expressing these roles authentically, originally and ecstatically from the core of themselves. As the parade of convention rolls a woman into her 30’s and 40’s, there seems to a general lack of time to commune with other females in a joyous expression of play. So many lose their village of female friendship too the high maintenance island of daily errands, kids, cars, career, commute, making money and spending it. The happiest women I know are those who are living on their own terms and those women all seem to deeply value the time they have to play and nurture their female bonds. These women are living 'out of the box' lives, sure, but they seem to be enjoying themselves, so I'm taking my cue from them.
Yes, it may require a radical shift of priorities or lifestyle. But shouldn’t we all do something radical once in a while? What if play was just a signal that you are indeed a more liberated, happier you? What if play meant you were a better wife, mother and woman? What if we reframed this idea that play is just the abode of youth, but instead, an ecstatic expression of age? What if we laughed and rejoiced with our best girlfriends every day? How is that a bad idea?
I feel blessed that this year has already carried with it the reunion of so many of my past female connections. I look forward to see who is coming next. In the words of my new friend, Dani Shay, “It’s immature not to play.” And I can honestly say, I quite agree with her. Cheers to my sisters; to my village of women.
