Where did my fun go?

Where did my fun go? It was here one day and gone the next, at least that’s how it feels. I used to be fun. I used to go out and do things. Fun, different things.

Once upon a time, I had a fun life, I swear.

I did things. I went out and did a lot of things. I went on random adventures. I was always down for going and doing something, anything, spontaneously. I was rarely home. There were so many options for doing things with friends and spending time outside my house. I feel like I was always going and doing something with someone – no end in sight.

But then it stopped.

When was that? Did it happen all at once? Or was it gradual? Did the opportunities to go out slow down, or I did? Having fun now seems like a genuine struggle. Going out for me is always met with some resistance from, well, me. Here’s how it goes:

• Someone askes if I want to do something.
• I want to say yes. If I say “no thanks” they’ll ask why.
• So I say yes.
• Then as the day approaches, I get more and more “itchy” about going. So many thoughts run through my mind like, “Will it be fun? Can I even have fun? Will there be a lot of walking? Could I manage that? Will we eat? Or will I starve?”
• Ridiculous thoughts. Nothing “tangible” yet, there they are.
• Sometimes it ends with me grudgingly going, and sometimes I find a valid excuse and pass on the experience.

I can blame Covid. And I do think that has a lot to do with it. It forced me to enjoy being home, and by myself. Turns out I really like that set up. Maybe too much.

All this to say, that I’m going to embark on a frightening journey for 2025. I’m going to try saying Yes more often. I’m going to stop making excuses for myself and whatever the adventure is. As much as I belly ache about going out, 9 times out of 10 I enjoy myself and it’s never as bad as I think it will be.

So saying yes. That’s going to be hard. But the option is to continue to stay at home watching all the fun go on around me, without me.

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