When Did We Get So Bad At Having A Good Time?

Or worse… have we forgotten how?

We have not forgotten how to achieve, or optimize, or strategize.  

But fun.  The kind that is a little loud, slightly embarrassing, and absolutely not monetizable (although not against the monetizing of fun).

This week, countless people asked me what I thought of Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl. Not what I thought of his performance, which would make sense given my live entertainment background. No. The question was what did I think of Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl.

Specific emphasis. Loaded tone.

And that, right there, is the point.

The Super Bowl is a game. A championship game, yes. A billion-dollar machine, absolutely. But at its core: football. A sport. A communal excuse to wear face paint, scream at referees, eat too many nachos, and high-five strangers.

It's supposed to be fun.

You can even feel the energy through the television. Athletes vibrating with nerves and electricity. Fans crossing bucket-list experiences off in real time. Entire sections dressed head-to-toe in team colors debating stats and prop bets like they are in a court of law. The wave. The boos. The cheers on third down. The Gatorade dump. A lot of community camaraderie around a game that features a ball.

Then there's halftime. For weeks, the country debates the set list, costume changes, pyrotechnics, surprise guests. When Bad Bunny took the stage, he brought joy. Bright colors. Nostalgia. Cultural pride. Dancing. Vitality. Then it ended, the lights shifted, a few more multi-million dollar commercials, and then the second half, and if you're a Patriots fan, perhaps it became less fun.

And then came the aftermath.

The discourse. The takes. The loaded questions with that tone. "What did you think of Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl?" Not "wasn't that fun?" but something heavier. Something requiring a position.

When did a halftime show become something to defend instead of enjoy (and listen, I can dissect production inefficacies all day long but that is not the point)?

The world is heavy. True suffering exists. But we can't even have 15 minutes of spectacle and joy without turning it into a referendum. And if we lose our ability to just have fun, what exactly are we protecting?

Don't let that happen. Don't hand over your joy to people who want to make everything a battle.

Choose joy anyway. Not as escapism. As resistance.

Jeffrey T. Barnes

Here's what that can look like:

Dance badly and enthusiastically. Take a dance cardio class alone in your apartment. Neon spandex instructor on screen. Look ridiculous. Feel ridiculous. Grin like an idiot. Once my daughter walked in and said, "Eww, you're so embarrassing." Then she walked out smiling. The silliness was contagious, even if I was the punchline.

Contain the complaints. Ever been at dinner with someone who narrates their dissatisfaction in real time? The wine is not cold enough. The main course is taking too long. Or the person who sighs dramatically in airport security because the line exists. It's exhausting. Don't be that energy. Not because everything's perfect, but because chronic complaining drains the room and joy needs oxygen.

Bring the fun. Say yes to plans with fun people. Laugh too loud. Suggest the ridiculous idea. Fun is social. It spreads. But you have to participate, not spectate. You can't critique the joy from the sidelines and expect to feel it.

Play and protect small delights. Card games. Rummikub. Mahjong. The bougie coffee. A good book. A margarita. Long conversations with friends. Run club. Law & Order. Cooking.

Be present for the moment, not the documentation. Stop instinctively reaching for your phone to capture things. Sometimes the concert/sunset/dinner is better experienced than archived.

Which brings me back to football.

If I could add one line to Bad Bunny's football, it wouldn't be "Choose Love." It would be "Choose Joy." Because joy crowds out hate. It leaves less room for cynicism. When you're genuinely delighted, fully in it, laughing too hard, hate doesn't find a comfortable seat.

The answer isn't pretending the world isn't hard. The answer is remembering that fun isn't frivolous. It's fuel.

So yes. I enJOYed Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl. I enJOYed the spectacle, the energy, the community, the love, and the fun.

And tomorrow, I'll probably dance badly again in my apartment.

Because I choose joy. And I'm not giving it back.

From Your Biggest Champion,

Nicole