Is our anxiety pulling us away, or can we lean into it to connect?
Rabbi and family therapist Edwin Friedman once wrote, “A major criterion for judging the anxiety level of any society is the class of its capacity to be playful.” The thought here is that if I lose my ability to play and focus only on being serious, I will be more anxious. Anxiety appears to be so much a part of our culture and daily lives now that it seems if you are not anxious about something, you are not normal (whatever normal is).
How do I play amidst all of the anxiety that daily life puts in front of me? I often tell myself, “Do not watch the evening news reports.” Even if I flip channels, it is the same story being reported by each station, each with their own “slant” according to that program’s editorial staff. But truthfully, regardless of the slant, the focus is on the seriousness of whatever is being presented. It’s ironic that if you watch to the end, the news reporter almost always ends the program with a playful and lighthearted “human interest story” to wrap it up. As if I’m not already impacted by the last 14 minutes. There is an awareness on the part of those who focus on what to present that there is a need to lighten the end of the program.
Often the “lighting up” story is about kids or animals, especially dogs and cats, which is no surprise, as animals have become our way out of this dilemma of being serious. Animal therapies—petting a dog, cuddling with a cat, spending time with a horse, among others—reduces tension. They have the ability to calm us.
But what is it that causes me to be serious and anxious about things I can do nothing about? It can be the war in Gaza, the starvation in the Sudan, the politics of our time. If I become overwhelmed by worry and stew over events, my ability to be playful goes away. How each of us reacts is a reflection of who we are. To simply keep our thoughts and worries within ourselves makes us less playful. Playfulness requires us to get outside of ourselves and be with others. Being with my family is more than presence—it is listening to and sharing with them.
There appears to be in our culture today a move to separation rather than being together. There is always a tension between the two. COVID exacerbated something that was already there. Many folk began to “work from home.” We wore masks and feared being in the same space as others. Going to church or places where togetherness was required (lectures, educational events, etc) dropped in attendance. And while the pandemic is over, at least in our minds, the separation has continued, and it’s more emotional than physical. There are indeed events where gathering and being with people physically has come back to life—ie. Taylor Swift concerts, College World Series—as events take central stage in our coming together, but even these events have become serious and less playful.
To be playful, I have to be more aware of who I am and what pushes me. I have to actually stop myself, take a deep breath, close my eyes, exhale, and be aware of how I came to be who I am. Who we are as brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, friends, coworkers, mentors—are we too caught up in ourselves and our anxieties that we have separated ourselves from hearing those who call us those names? It’s not an easy place to move from when you’re stuck. It’s like spinning my tires in a mudhole. I cannot get out without taking my foot off the gas, evaluating the problem, maybe even getting help from a friend, and laughing about it as we struggle. Allowing myself to not be so serious and to play with my life and others is a noble task, one which can impact not only myself, but the community in which I live.