A Love Letter to the Art of Not Taking Things So Seriously

There’s a kind of quiet magic in deciding - in only a moment - not to take everything quite so seriously. It’s the sigh you let out when you take your hands from the keyboard and stop trying to win the productivity Olympics. It’s the moment you realize the dishes will still be there tomorrow and waiting until then to do them will not change the trajectory of your life.

For most of my adult life, I spent believing that being a successful adult meant color coded calendars, crumb-free counters and cleaning baseboards on Wednesday's. But as I move ever so closer to 50, I’ve been leaning into a softer, more charming rhythm. One that allows for mid-day reading, spontaneous card-making to send to a friend for absolutely no reason, and yes, choosing to ignore the dishes in the sink while I twirl through a three-minute kitchen concert.

Insouciance, they call it. IN-SOO-SEE-ANCE

It’s not about ignoring the "important stuff" or responsibilities - it’s about not letting all of those things be your definition of a successful adult. It's a breezy, kind of charming, thought process. It’s leaning back and sipping your tea, while it's warm, and savoring the flavor. It’s wearing your favorite earrings even if you're just going to drop a package off at the post office. It’s saying “this will do” and meaning "Oh yes, this will definitely do" - with a smile on your face. And you know what... maybe even giving yourself a little wink of encouragement on your way out of the bathroom.

Take this past Easter for example.

I was scheduled to work, so I broke the news to my 13-year-old son—who, at his age, should probably be too cool for such things anyway—that we wouldn't be able to have an Easter egg hunt. Not only was I scheduled to work, but I had told him earlier in the week that rain was in the forecast, so when I woke up on Easter Sunday to the sound of a storm drenching the world outside, I figured the idea of an egg hunt was as good as canceled.

But, as luck would have it, my son was still asleep. It was only 9 a.m., and I didn't have to leave for work until 11:30, so I thought, why not? Embracing a little insouciance, I decided to toss aside any responsible adult thoughts of catching up on work, doing dishes, folding laundry, and the like. Instead, I grabbed the plastic Easter eggs I’d bought weeks ago and began filling them with quarters. Why not candy? He never eats it. His dad and I wind up eating it - and let me be clear - we do not need it. And what kid doesn’t like money?

As I was sifting through a cup of change on my desk, I noticed the little bag of tiny animals I had purchased to create "hugs in a pocket" for my antique booth. I decided to tuck a few of them into eight eggs, each with $0.50 inside. Then I remembered the vintage carrot I had picked up for my booth. Since my son is allergic to actual carrots, I make sure to give him a different carrot every year—this year, it happened to be a quirky vintage one I had stumbled upon while sourcing items for the booth. I popped that carrot into an egg with a $5 bill. The rest of the eggs got a mix of $1 and $5 bills, making for a grand total of 16 eggs, each stuffed with unexpected treasures.

But then, panic set in. I started to wonder if I’d remember where I hid them all. So, I did what any overly-ambitious, insouciant mom would do: I turned it into a scavenger hunt. But not just any scavenger hunt. Oh no, I couldn't just write the clues by hand. (I mean don't be silly.) I opened my Cricut Maker, pulled out some card stock, and started designing cute little bunny-ear name cards - with the number of the egg instead of a name. I printed out the clues on sticker paper, and after my Cricut finished cutting everything, I carefully attached the clues to the cards and taped them to the front of the eggs. By 11:15, I had 16 eggs with clues written in the cutest Easter font, all hidden around the house, waiting for my son to discover them.

At this point, I woke him up and handed him his basket. He was groggy, but excited, and as he hunted around for each clue, I watched him slowly piece together the mystery. Every egg led him to the next, each with a little surprise waiting inside.

And just like that, after all the planning, hiding, and hunting... I had to rush off to work - but felt very accomplished.

It was a very If You Give a Mouse a Cookie kind of morning. Or more accurately, If You Give a Mom a Cricut.

Those are the moments I will remember. The ones I want to remember.

One of the best lessons he ever taught me came when he was in 4th grade. It was the night before picture day, and I was busy doing my responsible parent thing—digging through drawers for a nice button-up shirt or polo, preferably one without mysterious stains. I was also plotting a sneak attack on his hair with a comb. As we were flipping through wardrobe options, I could see him getting more and more frustrated.

Finally, I sighed and said, “Listen kiddo, it’s just one day a year I ask you to dress nicely so your pictures turn out great. I don’t want to look back 20 years from now and see a giant stain on your shirt.”

Without missing a beat, he looked at me and said, “Mom, in 20 years, do you want to look back at my picture and see what you made me wear—or do you want to see me in something that actually fits my personality?”

Touché, kid.

And he was right. Who says pictures have to be perfect? I won’t look back and remember a battle over a collared shirt he hated—I’ll remember that he was absolutely infatuated with Sonic the Hedgehog. And there he is, in his school picture, grinning proudly in a blue tee covered in rings and cartoon speed. Honestly? It’s perfect.

So here is my little love letter to sort things out.

Dear Not Taking Things So Seriously,

Even though I didn't realize it, you haven't always been welcome in my world. For most of my life, I felt like I needed you. I was convinced that structure was required, that breaks had to be earned, and that all other successful adults, never let the laundry pile win. In fact, they didn't even have laundry piles!

But things have changed. Now I understand. It is totally okay to let out a little sigh. Give my shoulders a little shrug while they whisper, "whatever". A general glance at the chaos in my living room that says, “Yes, everything’s a bit off in this room", but then glancing out the window and taking a moment to take in the stunning Texas skies.

I honestly now understand that perfection is overrated and the happiest of people have stopped striving for it. You’re the reason I have went to bed so many nights laying for hours with no sleep, anxiety about what I didn't get accomplished that day storming through my thoughts, just as loud as the thunderstorm outside. Instead of seriousness and structure all the time, I am going to branch out and remind myself that an unmade bed won’t unravel the universe—and that mismatched socks are a fashion choice, literally.

I would like to say, though, thank you for showing up in the big moments:

When I want to stay home and just be lazy, but you remind me that we are out of milk, and I need to go grocery shopping.

When you remind me that goals aren't chores, they are love notes from past me.

And all of those things are important and generally need to be remembered. But I also need to mix it with equal parts of insouciance ...

When I burn the toast it is totally ok to just laugh it off (consider snapping a picture and instagramming it) and pop more bread in the toaster.

If I want to try a new watercolor painting, I might create a masterpiece, or at the very least a delightful puddle of paint that slightly resembles a duck. Or a cloud. Or a duck shaped cloud. Either way - worth the brushstroke.

It is ok to be a little weird, and to laugh at yourself. Laughter is love. Period.

I have adopted a new insouciant spirit, reminding me that not everything is panic worthy. That it’s okay to pause. That there is beauty in the undone, the unpolished, the unexpected.

So here’s to you, my so serious companion. May we always leave room on the calendar for nothing in particular.

Still learning to shrug gracefully, but headed out for tacos, vacuuming can wait.

Cat.