Prioritize fun as a choice
I write this on the birthday of my youngest sister who is a living example of gratitude, joy, and fun.
Happy Birthday Ani!
I want to talk about something we don't give ourselves nearly enough permission for: feeling good and having fun.
Not in spite of everything happening right now, but because of who we choose to be inside of it.
Here's what I know about fear: it is a powerful, ancient, and sometimes genuinely useful signal. When something threatens us, fear focuses our attention. That's biology. That's smart. But fear was designed for short bursts, not as a permanent operating system. And somewhere along the way — through news cycles engineered to keep us clicking, through algorithms that have learned we engage more when we're anxious, through a political climate that has discovered outrage is an excellent leash — we started living in it full time.
Research confirms what your nervous system already knows. Negative headlines generate more clicks than positive ones. We remember four times as many negative events as positive ones. Our brains process threat more thoroughly than safety. The media isn't lying to us exactly — it's just selling us what we keep buying.
But here's the thing. We get to stop buying it if only we choose to.
Not by looking away from what's real. Not by pretending things are fine when they're not. But by making a deliberate, almost defiant choice to also pay attention to what is good, what is beautiful, what is working, and what is worth celebrating. Gratitude isn't denial. Joy and fun are not irresponsible. Choosing to immerse yourself in something that lights you up is not a betrayal of those who are struggling.
It might actually be the most useful thing you do today.
When we approach life from a human-centered place — when we lead with love, kindness, curiosity, and the genuine belief that the people around us are creative and worthy and doing their best — we pull ourselves out of the fear economy. We stop letting someone else's agenda set the temperature of our inner world. We take our power back.
And power feels like something. It feels like laughing hard at something ridiculous. It feels like a meal with people you love. It feels like music that gets into your body before your brain even catches up. It feels like doing the thing that makes time disappear — not because you scheduled it as self-care, but because you decided you were allowed.
You are allowed.
So this is my gentle rallying cry: make the list of what you're grateful for. Not because it's a wellness assignment, but because your brain genuinely needs the counterweight. Call the person who makes you laugh until something comes out of your nose. Let yourself be delighted by small things. Notice what's working. Celebrate it out loud, without waiting for the world to calm down first. The world may not calm down, and your joy does not have to wait in line.
Fear wants your attention. Love wants your participation. And the most radical act of participation right now — the one that sustains you, connects you to others, and quietly refuses the narrative that suffering is the only serious response to serious times — is to also, on purpose, with full intention:
