Dearest Readers,
If you are in the Northern hemisphere, Happy Summer! Wherever you are, if you’re not feeling happy, I understand. It’s hard to be human even when the sun is shining.
I realized yesterday that today is the last day of June, which meant I had only one day to write this Letter since committing last fall to publishing once a month.
What to do?
Dash something trivial off? Stay up all night writing? Let myself off the hook?
I like the last option but it just so happens I have a wee story that won’t take me that long to share.
When I facilitate a workshop or retreat, I always include improv because it teaches listening, presence, and trust, and because laughter is good medicine.
One of the “rules” of improv is “it’s fun to fail.” This means, if you make a mistake: fun! If you mess up: fun! If everything falls apart: fun!
Last week, at a retreat I facilitated called “Sacred Silliness”, I told a knock-knock joke. It went like this:
“Knock-Knock,” I said.
“Who’s there?”, the group asked.
“God,” I said.
“God who?” they asked.
“I don’t have a last name,” I answered.
Crickets.
I think it’s a funny joke so I had been expecting a wave of laughter but there was total and complete silence. This joke bombed. Big time. I mean, like, it died a thousand deaths.
It was mortifying.
And …
In real time, I could model exactly what I was teaching that day. It’s fun to fail! There’s no shame in bombing. It’s no big deal to fail. In fact, it’s fun!
Admittedly, I had to work it. Feelings of embarrassment and discomfort were fighting for emotional victory. But the opportunity to have a sense of humour about tanking was unmistakable. I could embrace it.
So I did. Throughout the day, I repeatedly used my comic death moment as an example of “it’s fun to fail”. You know what? Doing that got the laughs the joke didn’t.
May our mistakes be opportunities to let go, laugh and have a little more fun. These days, we all need it.
Love and blessings,
Celia
