18 Sep The Serious Work of Being Silly
Webster is a little white duck who rides along on the rearview mirror of my car. He looks like he’s perched on a swing, dangling from a thin cord. On bumpy roads he careens back and forth like he’s holding on for dear life. Other times, when the road is smooth, he drifts gently, looking perfectly serene. The girls and I have made a game of it. Whenever we drive, we scan the radio to find a song that matches Webster’s mood. Loud rock and roll for his wild swings. Something mellow and spa-like for his calm, floating moments.
Whimsy is woven into how the girls move through the world. They narrate, invent, and give the ordinary a bit of sparkle. Being around them has nudged me into sillier rituals than I’d ever have come up with on my own, and it’s taught me how delightful it can be to enchant the ordinary.
Researchers have found that playful habits, these little moments of whimsy, actually change the way our brains handle stress. They stretch our thinking, give us relief, and spark joy in places that might otherwise feel flat or heavy. Whimsy isn’t a denial of seriousness. It’s a companion to it. A reminder that even in the thick of life and routine, it’s still possible to laugh.
I’ve started noticing the way whimsy shows up in other people’s lives, too. There’s an older man who sits at the coffee shop where I sometimes write, always in the same chair with his cup of coffee on Fridays. He calls it his “office hours.” Friends and acquaintances wander in, settle beside him for a bit, and debate sports decisions as if they were coaching the team themselves.
One of my friends has a habit I love. Whenever she’s shopping online and the site asks if her order is a gift, she always clicks “yes.” The packages are for her, but she fills in the little box with a note to her future self: You deserve this little treat.
A colleague of mine renamed her to-do list the TA DA list. When she finishes something, she doesn’t just cross it off. She throws both hands in the air and gives a full jazz-hands shake, saying “Ta da!” I’ve been on calls with her when she does it, and every single time it makes me laugh.
Emma once told me about a classmate who, when she opened her lunchbox and pulled out a banana, would say, “Time to take your jacket off.” Now, when I slice bananas for the girls’ lunches, I catch myself thinking the same thing as I slip their little yellow coats off.
And when my sister recently watched our house while we were on vacation, I opened the refrigerator door to find she had drawn faces on all the eggs and turned them toward each other with a sign that read: Staring contest.
It’s small things like these that shift how the day feels. They give it a different texture, softening the edges. Silliness doesn’t trivialize life, it refreshes it. It reminds us that the serious and the silly aren’t enemies — they balance each other.
Now, as I park the car and Webster’s swing comes to rest, I say to him, “You stay here, I’ll be back in a little bit.” I say it even when the girls aren’t in the backseat, which might be the clearest proof of all. Because maybe that’s the heart of whimsy: these small private jokes with ourselves, our everyday rebellions against seriousness, are what make the world feel just a little lighter.
What little rituals of whimsy do you keep tucked into your day?