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We take ourselves way too seriously and pretend like it’s normal.

I’m all for competitiveness, and I’m all for ambition — I recognize the importance of having drive, of having aspirations, dreaming of being the best and chasing the top echelon of our respective fields. But when did we stop having fun?

There’s this small baseball field about 15 minutes from my house. Neighbors and T-ball parents accumulate there on the weekends, united by the joy of a Capri-Sun afternoon and the promise of a children’s sports game.

And maybe the game starts out joyful, sure. Little Suzie bunts that ball and manages to score a single; Thomas lands a lucky catch. But once all three bases are loaded with children, threats start zinging through the air at much greater speeds. 

Some parents give ultimatums — if their kids don’t score at least one home run, no more screen time. Even worse, no more candy. For every shoelace untied, every booger picked, that’s one less Christmas present under that tree come December.

“And while certain moments do hold meaning, sometimes there isn’t one. Sometimes we do things just because they’re fun.”

I can’t remember when the World Series moved to a dinky stadium in Minnesota and stacked each team’s roster with kindergarteners, but I think it ruined the sportsmanship of baseball.

Yes, that is the level of seriousness these games devolve into. I’m not exaggerating. In fact, if anything, my description of this event has been a million times more fun and unserious than reality.

We can all recognize that it’s socially acceptable to have fun while being good at sports; children’s games are all lighthearted when the kids are playing well or at least attempting to improve. 

But what if a kid is having fun and they suck? What if, upon stepping up to bat each inning, every time they swing the bat it slips out of their hands and cartwheels through the air? Yet despite how horribly they suck, they still love the game? 

I argue that this kid’s attitude would be scrutinized. In other words, doing things purely for the sake of fun — without having a talent or a purpose — is frowned upon.

Here’s another example. I have a tattoo on my ankle slightly bigger than a quarter. It’s cute and simple — a small flower and stem enclosed by a circle. The tattoo is frequently hidden either by my socks or my pants, but on the small occasions when it peeks out, I can predict what certain strangers will comment. 

First they’ll tell me it’s pretty, that they like it or some iteration of a compliment. I’ll say thanks. They’ll ask me what meaning it has. I’ll say it doesn’t! There is no meaning! I got it purely because I think it’s pretty and I like it on my body! They’ll say, “Oh.” And the conversation ends.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with getting meaningful tattoos — I think that it’s a great way to immortalize or commemorate an important aspect of one’s life. Equally, however, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with getting a meaningless tattoo.

In the process of scouring life’s crevices for meaning — whether that be within milestones, hobbies or companionship — we get caught up and begin to ascribe a meaning to everything. And while certain moments do hold meaning, sometimes there isn’t one. Sometimes we do things just because they’re fun.

Experiencing joy is strong enough to make any moment important. Even if that moment holds no milestone — no deeper meaning or ulterior success — if you’re happy, that can be enough.

Not to say that always will be enough, of course. Life is much more complicated than that. But skill, thoughtfulness and ambition don’t always have to be so tightly intertwined with feeling purposeful. 

You can get a tattoo because you like it. You can play a sport because it’s fun.

Reach Emma Souza at letters@collegian.com or on Twitter @_emmasouza.