In praise of the unnecessary
“You must not ever stop being whimsical.
And you must not, ever, give anyone else responsibility for your life.”
For the last several weeks, a bird has woken me up, every morning, at a little past four. The singing is relentlessly cheerful. Also loud.
Go back to bed, I murmur. Is this really necessary?
Ah, necessary. Behind this innocent-seeming word is a whole framework we might not detect, so early in the morning, one that insists on being reasonable, that decides what matters, which is not this. What is necessary can lead to a kind of brutalist architecture of life: work, eat, sleep, repeat.
I have absolutely squandered opportunities for joy in the name of the necessary.
In my twenties, I showed up to a Halloween party in the Berkshires wearing jeans and an old sweater. My friend Matthew, assessing my outfit, asked kindly, “Jonesy, where is your costume?” Oh, I explained. I don’t do dress up. That stuff is nonsense, I’ve outgrown it.
And then he took my hands, looked at me seriously, and said, “We are going to change all that right now. We’re going to create a ridiculous costume for you so that you finally get it and you will never look back.”
He was right. Years on, my closet includes sequins and wigs and wings for all manner of occasion. Are they necessary? Not a single bit. Have they provided fuel for spontaneous parades and dance parties? Certainly.
All this may sound wasteful, silly, unserious. And friends, it is. But when we get out from under necessary we discover a rich field of possibilities. As Mary Oliver says above, “you must not ever stop being whimsical.” Whimsy contains the germ of your true responsibility: the care and keeping of your wild and precious life. Claiming playfulness - without apology, without earning it through work or obligation - lands us in the softer place where things grow.
Whimsy can be quiet too, a willingness to get off the rutted road, to take the scenic way home. It is simply delight without reason, an expression of nonsensical grace (and to be clear, this is not praise for unnecessary stuff (though wasn’t that a real trick capitalism pulled off, getting us to believe that accumulation was tied to happiness?)).
When we are struggling, simply being able to do what is necessary can feel like a triumph. I’ve had many moments when illness stopped me from doing even the most basic. But this is precisely why we need a wider scale; if we only listen in the key of what needs to be done, we miss beauty and celebration, what Parker Palmer calls the “grace of our common life.”
When I finally open my eyes and take in what’s outside, I realize what the birds were on about: lilacs drooping to the ground, peony trees in ecstatic fuchsia, a nest of eggs so blue I’m sure they can’t be real.
Where the other seasons are buttoned up - literally, coats on, collars turned up - along comes languid summer and the whole notion of buttons doesn’t make sense. To hell with what’s necessary, summer seems to say. What new ideas ever came from brittleness anyway? And in its abundance, passes the rhubarb, peaches, beans, bouquets of sunflowers and zinnia. Feed yourself.
Rosie, super toleratnt dog / lion.
Join us for Summer Reverence to explore these themes in an immersive, 8-day course.
We'll play with gentle movement, inspiring creative works, writing prompts, and optional live workshops to lean into summer's invitations.