The power of play
Some people look at me like I have two heads when I say that play is one of the key areas of health. And some respond with: That’s so cool! I love it! (Though those usually are the ones who already have play as a strong component of their lives.)
I recently listened to Dr. Christiane Northrup’s presentation titled “The Power of Joy: How the Deliberate Pursuit of Pleasure Can Heal Your Life.” I can highly recommend buying or borrowing this; it’s full of great tips and just fun to hear. Dr. Northrup herself is so full of joy and play that she can’t help but be a great role model. If an esteemed medical doctor can act silly, so can you!
The power of play isn’t just about mental health; it’s about physical health. In fact, playing weaves its fingers nicely into all the areas of health. For example, I have a colleague/friend who doesn’t love exercise but does love dancing. So, how does play find its way into encouraging her to move her body so it will be healthier? She dances to her favorite music around her house! She’s having a blast (play) while getting her body in motion (movement). She’s motivated to dance for 45 minutes because it’s loads of fun. If she attempted to force herself to spend that same 45 minutes on the treadmill, I can pretty much guarantee she’d give up in no time.
Can you imagine how incorporating play into your life impacts your stress level? Joyful play and stress can’t co-exist! Invite play into preparing meals instead of making it drudgery. I can almost bet, no matter what that meal is (okay, within reason), that it will be healthier for you simply because of how you feel about it. Play, of course, makes having a positive mindset much easier. And so on.
If you want to figure out how to be playful and joyful, watch most children for a while. They’ve got it down! They find the fun in nearly everything. And, of course, this doesn’t mean that you act silly 24/7. Reasonable balance, remember?
A friend recently sent me the following; let me close with it in the hopes it’ll spark the pursuit of child-like enjoyment back into your life.
A little girl walked to and from school daily. Though the weather that morning was questionable and clouds were forming, she made her daily trek to school. As the afternoon progressed, the winds whipped up, along with lightning.
The mother of the little girl felt concerned that her daughter would be frightened as she walked home from school. She also feared the electrical storm might harm her child. Full of concern, the mother got into her car and quickly drove along the route to her child’s school.
As she did, she saw her little girl walking along. At each flash of lightning, the child would stop, look up, and smile. More lightning followed quickly and, with each, the little girl would look at the streak of light and smile.
When the mother drew up beside the child, she lowered the window and called, “What are you doing?” The child answered, “I am trying to look pretty because God keeps taking my picture.”
From fragility to strength
“Snowflakes are one of nature’s most fragile things,
but just look what they do when they stick together.”
~ Verna M. Kelly
Love and loss on little kitten feet
He was just two weeks old. A baby kitten thrown in a dumpster with his brothers. One of what someone figured were just too darn many kittens, I imagine. The sort of thing I always heard at the shelter I served with as board member, volunteer and foster pet parent.
When I came across them, a staff member was attempting to wash all the fleas off them. White and gray kittens who appeared black due to the number of fleas. But she was holding these babies under a running faucet. And they were gasping.
I said, “Give them to me.” Took them home, got them warm, started carefully bathing them to get all the fleas off. Baths for days on end, nice blow dry finish. They got used to it. Me and my family hand fed them, helped them potty, eventually taught them to eat on their own — with lots of mess included as clean, white-and-gray kitties gained dirty brown mugs from trying to figure out how to eat canned cat food. Taught them to use the litter box. Enjoyed lots of good times watching them grow healthy and strong and play funny, baby kitty games.
They all got homes. I was thrilled. Working with a kill shelter, my promise to my fosters was that they would never endure that end. It wasn’t in me to raise them, love them and then see them euthanized if they didn’t get adopted. If I couldn’t get them adopted, then my place became their permanent home. My friends said I had a sucker sign brightly burning that everyone but me could see. So be it; I was — and am — good with that.
One of the group, though, ended up being returned. The woman who adopted him called me sobbing one day. (I gave my name and number to everyone who adopted my foster pets.) She and her family loved the little guy, but they had realized that her husband was severely allergic to cats. Previous to adopting Snowie, they had dogs as pets, never a cat. She had to give him up. Her husband was pretty ill and on an inhaler.
I met her at the shelter and took Snowie back in. I intended to put him back up for adoption, but the mushy part of my heart just couldn’t put him — or me — through the whole process again. So he became part of my family.
For twelve years, he entertained me. (Even though he could make me nuts at times because he was so smart he’d get into all sorts of mischief.) He liked to paw my arm while I was eating because he wanted to share. I took that and turned it into giving me a high five (and, yes, then, he got a treat). Offering his paw turned then into this routine: Put your hand out, he’d offer his paw. I (or others) would say: “Pleased to meet you.” Shake paw, gaze intently into his eyes. He’d take his other paw and cover your hand. Your role then was to say: “Oh, Snowie, I am so very pleased to meet you!”
We also had what I termed the dysfunctional cat game. After I moved to my new/old house last year, I’d find him sitting behind the sheers at the end of the upstairs hall, staring intently at me. I finally figured out the new game, which was pretending I had no idea where he was. “Snowie, Snowie, where are you?” I’d say. If my daughter was here, we’d both start calling for him. With extra, Oscar-award-winning acting in scenes such as: “Have you seen Snowie? I am so worried. I have no idea where he is.” Sooner or later — usually later — he’d meow and come out from behind the curtains, and I or we would exclaim: “Oh, there you are! I am so happy to see you. I was so worried.” Yes, I know — my daughter and I are a little crazy … but we have a lot of fun being a little crazy.
This sort of fun and laughter is why I can heartily recommend having a pet if you can commit for life to one and have the financial means and enough love and ability to care for one. Play and connection and happiness and warm kitty snuggles. Could you ask for an easier, more enjoyable boost to your health?
Unfortunately, Snowie left us Friday morning after a short battle with his health. It was too soon. It always is. But at least he died peacefully at home, surrounded with love and kisses even though tears fell on his beautiful white fur.
So, yes, now my heart has a few more cracks in it. But I know they’ll heal over. They are not the cracks that come from pain inflicted without care. They come from loss and grief and missing a part of my life, even if that part was inhabited by just a cat. There is so much good that came from all those years that I cannot regret the pain at the end. Twelve years of warmth and laughter; days of worry and hurt and lack of sleep. It’s a very reasonable trade off.
If you are or could be a pet lover, open your heart and home to one of those who sit sadly waiting in a shelter or pet rescue group. It’s worth it. While you think they need you – and they do — you actually need them even more.
Play on, sweet Snowie. I was very, very pleased to meet you.
