Don’t Say No to The Bowl
A Story About the Greatest Game Ever Invented
Dreaded New Year’s Eve was rapidly approaching when my friends and I decided to get together for a US weekend. That meant no spouses. No kids. No anyone that wasn’t US US US!
We wanted to connect, have real conversations, and simultaneously avoid the pressures of New Year’s Eve. Because let’s face it, it’s no longer, “Who am I kissing at midnight?” But instead, “Can I stay awake until midnight?”
The stakes were high. We wanted it to be the best weekend ever. My gal pals made suggestions. Unlimited mimosa brunch. Bowling. Massages. Someone even threw out the idea of a bird walk like we were full-on 75 years old. There were already too many ideas and we could feel the mounting pressure of trying to please everyone.
But, in trying to make everyone happy, we accidentally created the greatest game of all time. It’s called, “The Bowl of Fun.” Sure, the name is lame, but the game itself is the greatest game ever played by any human on this planet.
Have I overhyped? I don’t think so.
The concept was simple. We would each write down at least ten activities or questions. We put them in the bowl, and from that moment on, The Bowl dictates what we do. For the entire weekend. You can’t say no. And as soon as the room feels like we’ve completed one activity, we draw the next.
We had a zoom call to refine the rules. I’m not going to lie, there was some panic. I believe one person said quite sternly, “Just to be clear, I’m not getting naked at any point.” Everyone shook their heads and murmured, “Of course. Of course.”
“And no drugs.”
“Well…”
“No drugs in The Bowl.”
“Fine.” Everyone said less excitedly. But we all knew it was for the best. We didn’t want to pull out a paper that says “eat these mushrooms” and then we end up naked in the pool yelling, “I feel so free!”
We agreed that each person should get one veto in case a question comes up that you aren’t ready to answer or an activity that would really bum you out. We didn’t want the experience to upset anyone in any way. Also, no one is allowed to complain about a veto or bully a person into doing the task anyway. A veto has to be as sacred as The Bowl itself.
Then I said, “I think the most important thing is that we hand over all our power to The Bowl and we completely embrace the spirit of “say yes.“
Everyone nodded vigorously. The game had already begun.
The preparation brought out our various personalities. I, the Type A rule follower, brought sticky notes so everyone’s questions and activities would be uniform. That way no one could knowingly grab their activity. After all, The Bowl has the power.
My gaming friend called to ask questions about how we should handle props. She was aghast when she realized that there was a chance we might not get to all of the activities. My busy mom friend kept calling and saying “What are we doing again?”
Finally, game day arrived, we poured our first drink and began writing our activities on sticky notes. I wrote my ten activities (who am I kidding, I put in 15.) I took a break from writing to make a tray of Jello shots. As my friends watched me pour copious amounts of vodka into the Jello they said, “Oh lord, this is gonna be good.”
And so it began.
For the next two days, we all said yes with a capital YES.
We drew portraits of people in the room. We played a mini beer pong tournament (with Jello shots.) We did karaoke. We drank champagne out of the most giant cup on the planet. We recorded ourselves doing the first Tik Tok dance we scrolled to. We picked up the party and moved it to the garage, for no other reason than The Bowl told us to. We put on gold eye patches for puffiness. And yes, we took a bird walk.
On day two, we woke up a bit slowly, poured ourselves some bloody marys, and reached into The Bowl. This was the moment we started to believe The Bowl had magical, all-knowing powers. Somehow it knew we needed a slow start to the day, and it delivered nothing but questions for a couple of hours.
The very first question was “Tell every person in the room the thing you love most about them.” We were in tears (the good kind) before 10 am.
We answered questions like:
What’s your favorite song? Play it now.
Have you ever experienced a ghost?
Do you steal from self-checkout? Why?
Do you have a charity you give to?
Is there a big regret about your creative or world experience or a goal that’s unachieved?
What is the one word you want to live into this year?
At random moments someone would yell out, “OOOOH!” and run to grab the post-it notepad and drop another activity into The Bowl.
The game was evolving in real-time. And I loved it even more.
One of my favorite moments of the entire weekend came when someone reached into The Bowl and pulled out, “Do a 15-minute meditation.” At this point, we were The Bowl’s bitch, so without a word, we automatically began situating ourselves on the couch in a comfortable, meditation position and closed our eyes. As that wrapped up, someone grabbed our next activity, and they pulled out, “Go play four square.”
There was a moment of hesitation and someone who shall remain nameless (Heather, ahem) said “I don’t know. It’s raining. Should we postpone it?” This was immediately followed by nervous chatter. And- did I imagine it?- a stern look from The Bowl.
A hush followed as we all thought for a moment. This was the turning point. I think we all were afraid that if we disrespected The Bowl now, it would be the end of our game.
Someone spoke up.
“No. The Bowl says ‘play 4-square’, we play 4-square.”
We snapped out of our doubt and traipsed to the concrete area in the backyard. Someone brought chalk (of course they did) and a court was quickly drawn. And a very serious, competitive game began. Trash-talking was a-plenty, and we all ended up yelling “10 out of 10!” and then grabbing our (own) boobs before each serve. Why? Who the fuck knows. But was it the funnest game ever? You bet your ass.
And to think it might have all ended had we said no to The Bowl.
New Year’s countdown came and went, the smallest moment in the biggest weekend.
What happened over that weekend was magical, and again, I don’t think I’m overhyping. We talked. We played. We connected. We were genuinely present. And it was a weekend I will never forget.
I encourage you to get a Bowl, grab your pals, and commit as hard as Will Ferrell commits to every naked character he plays. Play like you’re bringing back your eight-year-old self. Play like The Bowl has all the power.
Let go and let in the joy.
