As a child, I was always climbing trees, making dens, exploring and looking for the next adventure. Somewhere along the way, adulthood arrived with its endless lists, responsibilities and expectations. Then motherhood arrived, and for a while it felt as though the workload had become too great for spontaneity.

But I don't think that part of me ever disappeared.

It just became a little quieter.

 

Thankfully, my sons had absolutely no intention of letting it stay that way.

Children are brilliant at saying "f**k it."

Dogs are too.

In fact, I think most animals are.

They don't wake up wondering whether they're too old to play, whether somebody might judge them for taking all their clothes off and running into the sea, or whether they've been productive enough to deserve a joyful afternoon.

They simply notice something interesting...

...and off they go.

​I sometimes wonder if they're trying to remind the rest of us how life works.

 

Looking back, some of the biggest "f**k it" moments completely changed my life.

When I was eighteen, my carefully planned gap year in America with my boyfriend disappeared overnight. I found myself saying, "F**k it... I'm going to Australia."

So I did.

Alone.

Nine months of travelling, which led to volunteering with orangutans in Borneo, bungy jumping in New Zealand, swimming beneath waterfalls in Thailand and meeting wonderful strangers taught me more about life than any plan ever could.

Years later, another "f**k it" took me from my sensible career path as a management graduate trainee into broadcasting, after someone handed me a piece of paper advertising for a radio presenter. That eventually led to a fun job in television.

Another one took me to Italy.

Another led me into hypnotherapy and regression therapy after months of trying to ignore a quiet voice that kept telling me my life was about to change direction.

More recently, it persuaded me to stop colouring my hair.

That one took two years.

Apparently all my silver strands were exactly where my hairdresser would have put the highlights anyway.

I could have saved myself a small fortune.

Who knew?

 

Some "f**k it" moments are rather less life-changing but still very satisfying.

Like deciding the hoovering can wait until tomorrow.

Or wearing the sparkly dress.

Or learning to DJ in your fifties simply because it sounds like fun.

Or jumping off a boat into a freezing lake on your birthday wearing only your birthday suit.

Or saying yes to a music festival with your grown-up sons.

Or deciding that instead of rushing home to cook supper, you're making a detour to the gelateria for enormous ice creams instead.

I don't think I've ever heard anyone complain about that particular decision. Ever.

Those moments certainly weren't headline news.

But they make wonderful memories.

 

One particularly hot Wednesday afternoon, after weeks of plus thirty-degree temperatures, I stood looking at an ever-growing to-do list.

There was admin.

Emails.

Housework.

Laundry.

The sort of list that seems to multiply while you're reading it.

I looked at it for a moment.

Then I said, yup, you've guessed it, "F**k it."

I met a friend, took Ruby, my Labrador, to a beautiful waterfall, and we spent the afternoon sitting in the cool water beneath the cascading falls.

The emails survived.

The washing survived.

The admin didn't disappear.

But the world carried on turning.

It just looked considerably less important after sitting beneath a waterfall with my dog.

And for a few glorious hours, I felt completely alive.

And isn't that really the point?

 

I've realised over the years that saying "f**k it" isn't about caring less.

It's about caring more...

...about the things that really matter and yourself.

It can mean saying "f**k it" to people pleasing.

To perfection.

To believing you have to earn your rest.

To dressing your age.

To waiting until you've lost the weight before wearing the clothes you love.

To worrying about what everyone else might think.

To the not so toned tummy that grew two babies.

To the not so upright boobs that fed them both for thirteen months.

To the idea that growing older should somehow mean becoming quieter, smaller or less adventurous.

And hello...

To living a little more.

 

I think many of us spend so much time trying to be sensible...

...that we slowly forget how to be spontaneous.

We wait for permission.

We wait until we're less busy.

We wait until we've lost the weight.

We wait until next year.

Time, however, will continue passing while we're waiting.

There's another side to this too.

When we let go mentally, our bodies often follow.

You can almost feel it, can't you?

The shoulders soften.

The jaw unclenches.

The breathing deepens.

The nervous system exhales.

In Qigong we talk about allowing our energy, or chi, to flow freely. Tension blocks it. Ease restores it.

 

Perhaps saying "f**k it" is one of the quickest ways of remembering what really matters.

Sometimes saying "f**k it" means leaving the ironing.

Sometimes it means booking the flight.

Sometimes it means eating the chocolate (my dear mum has been practising that one for years).

The point is...

Most of the things we think we absolutely must do right now simply aren't as important as we imagine.

Nobody reports you to the Productivity Police because you spent the afternoon at a waterfall.

Everything gets done eventually.

Life carries on.

Only now you have a memory to go with it.

 

I've never looked back on one of those moments and wished I'd done another load of washing instead.

The to-do list will still be there tomorrow.

Your children won't always want to dance in the kitchen with you.

Your dog won't always be waiting excitedly by the front door.

Summer won't last forever.

Maybe that's what a joyful life really is.

Not just one huge adventure.

But hundreds of tiny moments when we quietly decide...

"Do you know what? F**k it."

Not because we're escaping life.

But because we're choosing to live it.

Maybe that's all those two little words really are.

Permission.

Permission to stop waiting.

Permission to trust yourself.

Permission to choose the memory over the perfectly folded washing.

Permission to live the life you're already in.

And how good does it feel to say those two little words?

​

Follow the Fun - Today

​

Ask yourself one simple question.

What am I going to say "f**k it" to?

 

Perhaps it's the unnecessary expectation you've been carrying.

Perhaps it's the fear that's been keeping you small.

Or perhaps it's simply the pile of ironing while you go for a walk, meet a friend for coffee, dance around the kitchen or make an entirely unnecessary detour for ice cream.

 

Whatever it is...

 

Follow the fun.

Trust yourself.

Joy has a wonderful habit of catching up.