Mark: A recent Gallup poll found that daily happiness and enjoyment among adults have hit a decade-low. We're more connected than ever, yet less joyful. It seems we've forgotten a fundamental human skill: how to have fun. Michelle: That hits close to home. It feels like 'fun' has become another chore on the to-do list, something you have to schedule and optimize. The pressure to have the 'right' kind of fun, the Instagrammable kind, is exhausting. It almost makes you not want to bother. Mark: Exactly. And that's the central question in the book we're diving into today: That Sounds Fun by Annie F. Downs. It's a New York Times bestseller, and what's fascinating is that Downs actually started her career as an elementary school teacher. Michelle: Oh, I didn't know that. Mark: Yeah, and she faced over 40 rejections for her first book before she decided to self-publish. That whole journey of perseverance really shapes her message about finding joy in the process, not just the perfect outcome. She argues that maybe the reason we're so joyless is that our very definition of fun is broken. Michelle: What does she mean, our definition of fun is the problem? Fun is fun, right? A good meal, a movie, a vacation... how can that be broken? Mark: Well, that's the first big idea we need to unpack. Downs makes a powerful distinction between genuine fun and what most of us are actually doing: escapism.

Michelle: Okay, you have my attention. So my weekend Netflix binge isn't real fun? Because it feels pretty fun. Mark: It’s a great question, and she tackles it head-on. For years, Downs was a traveling speaker, constantly on planes, seeing new cities. That was her 'fun.' But she tells this story about a time when she felt a strong pull, what she calls a 'divine invitation,' to stay home for an entire fall, her busiest season. Then, a series of migraines forced her to be grounded by her doctor. Michelle: So she was literally grounded. Mark: Literally. And she was terrified. She anticipated a mild depression because, for her, travel was how she coped. It was her escape. Being stuck at home meant she had to face everything she was running from. And this leads her to ask this really piercing question: "How often do we call escapism 'fun'?" Michelle: I feel personally attacked. But honestly, where is the line? Is watching a movie to de-stress after a hard week just escapism? Is that bad? Mark: Here's where her idea gets really deep. She says the problem isn't the activity itself, but the motivation. Are you running towards something that brings you life, or are you running away from something that feels hard? She proposes that what we're all truly longing for isn't just a distraction. We're looking for what she calls 'Eden.' Michelle: Eden? What does she actually mean by that? Is it a religious thing, like the Garden of Eden? Mark: It has that spiritual undertone, given her faith, but she frames it as a universal human longing. Eden is that sense of peace, of home, of wholeness, of being truly at rest. It's the feeling that things are as they should be. Escapism is like a temporary anesthetic; finding Eden is about genuine healing and connection. Michelle: That makes sense. A distraction wears off, and the anxiety is still there waiting for you. Mark: Precisely. She tells this incredible story about watching an Instagram video late at night. It showed people playing giant Jenga outdoors, having a great time. Then, a college-aged girl runs by and just shoves all five towers over, sending the blocks flying. The game is instantly ruined. Michelle: Oh, that's infuriating! Mark: Right? But for Downs, it was more than that. It became a metaphor for her own anxiety. She couldn't sleep, worrying that some 'cosmic' event would just crash down and ruin any good thing in her life. That's the feeling escapism can't fix. It's the feeling that even when things are good, they're fragile and about to collapse. The search for fun, she argues, is really a search for a foundation so solid that you don't live in constant fear of the Jenga tower toppling. Michelle: Wow. Okay, so the goal isn't just to find more fun activities, but to build a life where you feel that sense of 'Eden,' that foundational peace. That's a much bigger project. Mark: It is. And that search for 'Eden' connects directly to her next big idea, which is about giving ourselves permission to be... well, bad at things.

Michelle: Permission to be bad at things? I give myself that permission every time I try to assemble IKEA furniture. I'm a professional amateur at that. Mark: (laughs) Well, you're ahead of the curve then! Downs argues that we've corrupted the word 'amateur.' We use it to mean 'unskilled' or 'incompetent.' But she points out that its Latin root, 'amator,' means 'lover.' An amateur is someone who does something for the love of it. Michelle: Oh, I like that. Doing something just because you love it, not because you're trying to monetize it or get a thousand likes. Mark: Exactly. She tells this hilarious story about trying to bake a dairy-free, gluten-free cake for a friend. She's a total novice in that world. She follows the recipe, but the result is a disaster. She says it was something between a biscuit and a pudding. A total 'amateur move.' But in that failure, there was no real pressure. It was a low-stakes way to try something new, to play. Michelle: That's the kind of amateurism I can get behind. Low-stakes, pudding-cake failure. But it's not always that easy, is it? Mark: Not at all. And she makes a brilliant pivot here. She contrasts the fun, low-stakes failure of the cake with a very high-stakes situation where she had to be a public amateur. A listener kindly pointed out that her podcast, which is hugely popular, lacked racial diversity. Downs realized the listener was right and felt this deep call to engage in the conversation about racial reconciliation. Michelle: Wow, that's a tough thing to learn publicly. Especially in the age of social media and what she calls 'cancel culture.' The fear of saying the wrong thing and getting piled on is very real. Mark: It's incredibly real. And she was terrified. She knew she was an amateur in this conversation. She was going to make mistakes, say things imperfectly, and she did. She got criticized. But she decided that being a clumsy, learning amateur in that space was better than being silent. She chose to learn in public, to bring on diverse guests, and to use her platform to grow. Michelle: That takes immense courage. It's one thing to be an amateur baker in your own kitchen; it's another to be an amateur at something so important and so public. Mark: And that's her point. Embracing the spirit of the amateur—the lover of the thing—gives you the freedom to grow. Whether it's baking a terrible cake or engaging in a difficult, necessary conversation, it's about prioritizing the process of learning and loving over the fear of imperfection. It's about giving yourself, and others, permission to not be a professional at everything. Michelle: Okay, so we need real fun, not escapism, and we should embrace being amateurs. But how does any of this work when you're genuinely going through something awful? When fun feels completely impossible, or even inappropriate? Mark: That's the final, and maybe most profound, piece of the puzzle. She calls it 'partnering with pain.'

Michelle: 'Partnering with pain.' That sounds intense. It doesn't sound like fun at all. Mark: It's not about making the pain fun. It's about refusing to let the pain have the final word. The most powerful story in the book, for me, is about her family selling their childhood home on Ebenezer Road. This was the house where every holiday, every family meal for forty years had happened. It was the center of their family's universe, and losing it was a deep, collective grief. Michelle: I can only imagine. That's the kind of loss that just hangs over everything. Mark: It was. The family gathered for one last meal at the house, and everyone was just so sad. Downs is driving there, feeling this weight, and on the way, she makes what she calls an 'amateur move.' She stops and buys a bunch of fireworks. Michelle: Fireworks? To a somber family gathering? That's a bold move. Mark: A very bold move. She didn't know how it would be received. But after dinner, she suggested they all go down to the dock by the pond. And in the dark, this grieving family started setting off fireworks. She describes the colors exploding over the water, the reflections, the sounds. It didn't erase the sadness. They were still losing their home. But for a few minutes, they were also creating a new, beautiful, joyful memory in that same space. Michelle: That's such a beautiful, proactive way to handle grief. It’s not ignoring the sadness, but adding another layer to the memory. A layer of light. Mark: That's the perfect way to put it. She uses this key phrase: "Fun is never meant to replace pain... But fun can walk alongside it. You can hold them both and see what happens when they dance together." The fireworks didn't fix the loss, but they partnered with it. They ensured that the final memory of that sacred place wasn't just one of sorrow, but also one of light and laughter and connection. Michelle: It’s about creating a 'glimpse of Eden,' as she would say, even in the middle of the heartbreak. Mark: Exactly. It’s a conscious choice to chase the fun, to build a small moment of joy, that makes the hard seasons bearable. It proves that even when life is painful, it can also be beautiful.

Mark: So when you put it all together, it's a really powerful framework for a more joyful life. It’s a three-step process, really. First, you have to be honest about what you're actually seeking—is it a temporary distraction or is it that true sense of 'Eden,' of peace and wholeness? Michelle: Right, getting clear on the 'why' behind your fun. Mark: Second, you give yourself the grace to be an amateur. You let go of the need for perfection and just do things for the love of the process, whether it's a hobby or a hard conversation. Michelle: Which takes the pressure off and actually makes it enjoyable again. Mark: And third, you learn to carry that joy with your pain, not as a substitute for it. You learn to light the fireworks on the dock, to find those moments of light even in the dark. Michelle: It makes you ask yourself, what's one 'amateur' thing you could do this week, just for the love of it, with zero pressure? Maybe it's picking up an old instrument, trying a new recipe knowing it might fail, or just going for a walk without a podcast, just to look around. Mark: Exactly. And what does 'fun' truly look like for you, beyond just escaping the stress of the day? What activity actually brings you that feeling of peace, that glimpse of Eden? Michelle: That’s a great question for all of us to sit with. We'd love to hear your thoughts. What's something that 'sounds fun' to you right now? Let us know on our social channels. We're always curious to see how these ideas land with you all. Mark: It’s a beautiful invitation to a richer, more authentic life.