“Staff is mad at me,” she says.
“Why?”
“I threw a princess party for my clients. They were all dressed up and we wore sparkly princess things and colored and had a party. My client who’s about to graduate didn’t know how to play with her kid, so I thought we’d have a party to show her. Staff felt like I spoiled them.”
I’ve been thinking about this all week. The courage of a princess party. The attempt to teach a woman in her twenties, who was caretaking the family when she was 5, how to be a child. How to play.
When I think of courage, of course, I think of Harry Potter. Harry who has more in common with Snape than he shares with either Dumbledore or Voldemort. Dumbledore and Voldemort both struggle with ambition. Harry wants none of it. And Snape reined his ambition when he decided to atone. Half bloods. Lost boys. Powerful and bullied. Rowling wrote a story about true heroism. She wrote a story about kindness. About the recognition of humanity. About the fact that seeing the small, delicate potential of those around us, whether or not we like them, is the best hope that we have to flourish. There is no bravery like mercy.
Or princess parties. What could be more important than giving a mother the skills to play with her children? What better to teach her than joy? Doesn’t the world need a little more glitter and glow? More rooms filled with celebration.
Our job is not to be competent, but to strive toward error. Toward getting it wrong and eventually improving. What is bravest about us is the way we lift one another. Last week, my wife taught a roomful of women to play. They came dressed as princesses. They made bracelets. They ate cake.
I swear to you, the world is already happier. I swear to you. What will save us is kindness. Delight, my friends. Delight and color some shit. Play is practice for living more bravely.
