The Importance of Silliness
I was typing away at my computer the other day when I heard a bump. Pulling off my headphones, I swivelled around in my chair to find my girlfriend crouched on the floor behind me, looking focussed. Unaware I was watching, she tucked her head down, extended her legs, and performed a roly-poly. She toppled over slowly before crashing into the side of the bed, where she lay still.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked, appearing upside-down in her field of view.
“I just thought it might be fun,” she wheezed through her hair.
When lockdown loomed in early March, I was concerned about spending every minute of every day locked inside with my partner. It wasn’t a question of our relationship being unhealthy – we are very happy. It was just that I’d never spent that much time with anybody, with the exception of perhaps my mum when I was an infant – and even then she was able to palm me off on my dad if she fancied a night away from my incessant burping and shrieking.
I burp and shriek somewhat less these days, however, I’m still not convinced I’m a delight to live with. I can be lazy, contrary, anxious and stupid – often all at once.
When the lockdown eased in Wuhan, I read that couples were dumping one another left, right and centre. I began to fear I may soon meet a similar fate. I needn’t have worried, however. After three straight months of constant companionship, we’re as strong as we’ve ever been. There are several reasons why this has been the case – empathy, respect, support – but a large part of it (and certainly the most fun) is due to sporadic bursts of pure, lovely silliness.
Now - when I say silliness I don’t mean forced gaiety and deliberate childishness. And I certainly don’t expect you and your partner ought to play escalating pranks on one another. Like one of those handsome, infuriating couples who go viral every now and then. God no. By silliness, I simply mean allowing one’s quirks and eccentricities to flourish, without fear of reproach or judgement.
For example: a few weeks ago I had to tackle a mighty thistle that was growing in our little front garden and making us look slovenly in front of the neighbours. It had grown to beanstalk-esque proportions, and after a particularly strong coffee, I endeavoured to chop it down.
Armed with an oven mitt and a bread knife, I sawed and yanked and wrestled the vast weed into submission over a ten-minute battle. It was only as I stood back, wiping sweat from my brow and sheathing my blade, that I heard a cheer. I looked up to find my partner leaning from an upstairs window, waving to me; she’d witnessed the entire sticky debacle, and apparently found it quite endearing.
Like flares drifting through a dark sky, these little moments of goofiness light up the monotony of lockdown. It might be a daydreamy waltz around the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil, or tuneless yodelling floating from the bathroom while the shower runs. It could be doodling tattoos on one another’s skin during lazy conversation, or growing intensely competitive over something objectively unimportant: only yesterday we stumbled into heated debate over how many beans were leftover on my partner’s plate (there were 17 in total – I won).
Sometimes it can be hard to let your goofier side out, even with somebody you love very much. I’ve been playing video games during lockdown, something I’ve not done in years. In order to play and chat online with my younger brother, I bought a headset recently with a mic attached. However, I didn’t use it for a week after purchasing it, purely from the fear of looking like a tit in front of my girlfriend.
When she enquired as to why it was lying untouched, I told her the truth: I felt silly. With a smile, she told me my silliness is one of her favourite things about me. In saying that, she set me free: free to be daft, free to embrace my eccentricities, free to trash talk 15-year-old American brats until the cows come home.
It’s been tough to stay positive over the last three months. A lot of our time has been spent fearing for immunocompromised loved ones, batting away cabin fever, and trying to stay chipper amid the ever-looming threat of workplace redundancy. Routine helps, of course, as does productivity, moderation and balance.
But more than anything else, I’m learning that the best medicine for a relationship under lockdown is to surf the little waves of spontaneity that rise and fall at random during those endless mundane hours. They’re crucial and nourishing; rehydration salts for the soul. Sometimes, to brighten things up, all you need to do is set free your inner oddballs.
Written by Dan Hackett
Dan is a copywriter living in Bristol. He wrote his first novel last year, though he's not tried to get it published yet. Instead, he is currently sitting on it like a goose on an egg, refusing to let it hatch, mortified at the prospect of releasing it out into the world. If you fancy telling him to get his act together, his Twitter is here. Oh and he writes about travelling sometimes, too.