Today I Choose to be Lighthearted – How to be Lighthearted

I used to think lightheartedness meant being carefree—like those rare people who wake up humming and dance their way through chaos. That wasn’t me. After a decade of high-stress work, caregiving, and trying to hold everything (and everyone) together, lightness felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

But then something shifted.

One afternoon, I found myself sorting through old photo boxes—you know, the ones you keep meaning to organize but never quite do. I came across a picture of myself at 23, barefoot in the grass, laughing so hard my eyes were closed and my hands were flung up like I was surrendering to the joy of being alive.

And I thought: Where did she go?

That image stayed with me. It reminded me that lightheartedness isn’t something we grow out of—it’s something we slowly misplace. And maybe, just maybe, we can find it again.

Why Lightheartedness Matters More Now Than Ever

At this stage of life, so many of us are navigating intense transitions—aging parents, career burnout, health scares, adult children facing their own chaos, and the quiet question of what’s next?

Being lighthearted doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine. It means learning how to hold things a little more loosely, laugh even when things are hard, and let joy sneak in where it can.

I’ve learned that lightness is often a choice, not a condition. The days when I can find even five minutes to be silly—play a ridiculous voice memo from my niece, wear the sparkly socks for no reason, or dance around while reheating leftovers—those are the days I feel most like myself.

As Anne Lamott said: “Lightness of being is not a matter of circumstance, but of choice.” Amen.

What Lightheartedness Actually Feels Like

In your body, lightheartedness feels like release. Your shoulders drop from your ears. Your jaw unclenches. There’s a bubble of something—not quite laughter, but its cousin—sitting right behind your sternum. You breathe easier. Time feels less urgent.

Without it? Everything feels heavy. Like you’re wearing a lead coat. Even small tasks feel monumental. You forget how to laugh at the absurd, and everything becomes Very Serious Business.

The Myths About Being Lighthearted

Myth: Lighthearted people don’t have real problems.
Reality: Some of the most lighthearted people I know have been through hell. They choose lightness not because life is easy, but because heaviness is exhausting.

Myth: Being lighthearted means being superficial.
Reality: You can be deep and light simultaneously. In fact, the deepest people often need lightness most—it’s how they surface for air.

Myth: You’re either a lighthearted person or you’re not.
Reality: That photo of 23-year-old me proved I had it once. If I had it once, I can find it again. It’s not a personality trait; it’s a practice.

Myth: Lightheartedness is inappropriate after 50.
Reality: Who made that rule? The same people who think we should cut our hair short and stop wearing bright colors? Hard pass.

How I Started Reclaiming My Lightness

After finding that photo, I started small. Really small.

The Morning Rebellion
Instead of immediately checking emails, I’d put on one song and dance while the coffee brewed. Just one song. Three minutes of ridiculousness before responsibility.

The Grocery Store Game
I started giving people backstories. The man buying 47 cans of tuna? Obviously training for a cat circus. The woman with all the lemons? Clearly opening a lemonade speakeasy.

The Sock Revolution
I threw out every boring sock I owned. Now it’s all rainbows, sparkles, and patterns. My feet are having a party even when I’m in a board meeting.

The Voice Memo Exchange
My niece and I send each other increasingly ridiculous voice memos. British accents, fake commercials, terrible jokes. It’s become my favorite notification.

The Obstacles to Lightheartedness (And How to Dodge Them)

“There’s too much going on to be lighthearted.”
That’s exactly when you need it most. Lightness isn’t a luxury for when things are perfect; it’s medicine for when they’re not.

“People will think I’m not taking things seriously.”
Let them. You can be serious about what matters and still find moments of levity. They’re not mutually exclusive.

“I’ve forgotten how.”
Start by watching what makes you smile. Not laugh—just smile. Follow that thread. It will lead you back.

“It feels forced.”
It will at first. Like any muscle you haven’t used in a while, it needs gentle stretching before it remembers how to work.

Practical Ways to Invite Lightness Back

Create Tiny Rebellions

• Wear something unexpected under your serious outfit
• Change your ringtone to something absurd
• Put googly eyes on your houseplants
• Text someone a terrible dad joke at 2 PM

Find Your Lightness Accomplices

• Identify the people who make you laugh without trying
• Start a “ridiculous photo of the day” text thread
• Have a standing date for something purely fun
• Give yourself permission to be the silly one sometimes

Reframe the Serious Stuff

• Give your problems ridiculous nicknames
• Imagine explaining your day to a confused alien
• Narrate mundane tasks like a nature documentary
• Find one absurd thing in every situation

The Unexpected Benefits of Reclaimed Lightness

Here’s what I didn’t expect: Being lighthearted made me better at handling heavy things. When you can find a moment of levity in difficulty, you prove to yourself that the difficulty doesn’t own you completely.

Other surprises:

• My adult kids started calling more (turns out, fun mom > worried mom)
• Work stress became more manageable (perspective is everything)
• My marriage got a second wind (we’d forgotten how to play together)
• Health issues felt less overwhelming (laughter really is medicine)
• New friendships formed easier (lightness is magnetic)

The Depth in Lightness

Lightheartedness isn’t denial. It’s resilience with a wink. It’s saying to life’s challenges: “Yes, I see you, and I’m choosing to dance anyway.”

That 23-year-old in the photo? She didn’t have fewer problems—she had less fear about having problems. She trusted that she could handle whatever came while still finding reasons to throw her hands up in joy.

At 61, I’m learning she was right.

When Lightness Feels Impossible

Some days, lightness feels like a foreign language. When grief is fresh, when worry is warranted, when the world feels particularly heavy—those aren’t the days to force it.

But even then, tiny moments can sneak through:

• A dog doing something ridiculous
• A child’s unexpected observation
• A friend’s perfectly timed text
• A memory that makes you smile despite yourself

These aren’t betrayals of your serious situations. They’re proof that lightness can coexist with difficulty.

The Permission Slip

Here’s what I wish someone had told me: You’re allowed to be lighthearted even when:

• Your parents are aging
• Your body is changing
• Your career feels stalled
• Your kids are struggling
• The world feels broken

Lightness isn’t about ignoring reality. It’s about not letting reality steal every moment of joy.

Today’s Choice

Today, choose to be lighthearted in one small way. Put on the song and dance for three minutes. Send the silly text. Wear the sparkly socks. Make up a ridiculous story about the person in line ahead of you.

Find that photo of yourself from before—before responsibility became your entire identity, before heaviness became your default, before you forgot that joy doesn’t need justification.

She’s still in there, that lighter version of you. She’s just been waiting for permission to come back out and play.

And here’s the beautiful truth: The woman you are now, with all your experience and wisdom and battle scars, can be even more delightfully lighthearted than that younger version. Because now you know how precious lightness is. Now you know it’s not automatic—it’s chosen.

So choose it. Even for five minutes. Even imperfectly. Even when it feels like you’re pretending at first.

That barefoot girl laughing in the grass? She’s cheering you on.