It’s been said there are only two certainties in this life: death and taxes. Sometimes I think I shall be sent earlier to the former because of the latter.

The filing deadline looms again, less than a month away. The annual pressure builds within me. I berate myself to employ discipline.

“Dare you to avoid the 36-hour crush,” my inner voice challenges.

Do a little each day. Make checklists. Gather all the papers in one place. Sort, calculate, add, and re-add. Research. Draft. Find just one more deduction.

I detest this project. Finding any fun in it seems hopeless. I foster all means of avoidance. Masterfully justify my procrastination.

“No fun! No fun!” Every part of me screams.

Still, the responsibility looms over me. It is not to be ignored.

I exude responsibility. It seeps from me like the tears of an iconic weeping Madonna.

As the oldest of three, it’s a destiny ingrained from my birth order, an inescapable anointing. Abdication self-forbidden.

I’m sure I knew the role of responsibility in my life much earlier, but my first memory of deeply knowing and feeling it is on Christmas Eve of 1962.

Nearing the end of my 5th year, I awaken my 3-½ year-old brother and take him by the hand. With my other hand, I raise my index finger to my puckered lips. Our eyes meet. I raise my eyebrows slightly to indicate the severity of what I’m about to say.

“Ssshhh.”

He nods. I lead him out of the bedroom, and we begin creeping down the stairs.

Our mission: To catch Santa Claus in the act of coming through the front door and to escape detection from our parents in the process.

The wall along the enclosed stairwell means we must make it all the way down to the 3^rd step before we’ll be able to peer around the corner.

What an adventure!!!! My heart pounds hard and loud.

Staying one step ahead of David, I lead the way. Always holding his hand – both for his safety and to keep him in his place. I’m in charge, of course.

We near the third step. I take it and stop David on the fourth. My heart races. Excitement. Fear.  Wonder. What awaits around the wall?

“I wanna see. I wanna see, too,” David starts.

“Not yet,” I command in a stern whisper.

We’ve not come this far for me to give up control yet.

I balance myself on the edge of the wall and the step, tilt my head forward and to the left. Not enough. Stretching my neck forward and checking my balance, I lean my head into the darkness of the dining room. I hear voices and see shadows move through a light from the living room.

“Is it Santa? It IS Santa!” David chortles excitedly and a little too loudly.

“Ssshhh.”

Listening, I realize the voices are those of our parents. Responsibility shrouds me.

I’m suddenly aware that this adventure I brought us on might have dire consequences. If we are found out, Santa might actually pass us by. There might be no presents for us to open on Christmas morning.

I peer around the wall one more time, and then quickly decide I must save our Christmas. I must safely get the two of us back up the stairs without detection, back into bed, and fast asleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads.

There’s no doubt in my mind that in that moment I knew being a big sister was both an adventure and a responsibility. I embraced it. Still do. I can be good at it. I can be bad at it.

The responsibility thing goes well beyond my role as sister. It’s a role all itself. I’m good at it. So good at it, that sometimes I forget to lighten up, to play, to have fun.

Like with this darned tax return project.

I know what needs to happen. I’ve got a plan, but it’s only when I find a way to have fun with it that I overcome my resistance and procrastination.

So, this morning, I’m playing with the tax return. Revenues are entered into the calculations. Time to celebrate. Turn on Pharrell’s Happy song and dance and sing a victory jig.

Work some more. Depreciation calculations are completed. Roy Orbison sings Pretty Woman, and for three minutes I strut through the house on high heels like Julia Roberts on a Rodeo Drive shopping spree.

“Mercy!”

More responsibility! Go at it some more. He Ain’t Heavy. He’s My Brother! Sing it sister!

Sometimes responsibility, like life, is meant to be all seriousness. But more often, it’s meant to be imbued with excitement and enthusiasm, filled with celebrations for even the smallest victories.

Our childlike senses of adventure and fun come naturally, fueled by our curiosity and early explorations of the world around us. The imprinting of responsibility presses into us at different times and in many different ways.

Both are wonderful, necessary gifts for living and contributing to our lives and the world in which we live. But, often one can smother the other.

In my case, responsibility is the older sister. She holds fun back on the fourth step. Integrating play and fun with responsibility is an ongoing key life choice for me.

Reconnecting with my childlike exuberance means sometimes letting go of cool and reserved. It’s recalling the essence of my own childlike wonder. It’s seeing and embracing the world with wide-eyes, spontaneous joy, and an innocence that just naturally plays at whatever lies before me to be done.

It’s Mary Poppins adding a spoonful of sugar to the bitter medicine that life sometimes requires me to swallow. It’s finding joy in the ordinary events of life and celebrating accomplishing even the most mundane of tasks.

Speaking of mundane. I’m off to calculate my auto miles for last year. Haven’t quite decided how I’ll celebrate, but considering a little bit of Willie Nelson’s On the Road Again. Of course, by the time I get finished a better choice might be Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain! Wishing you just the right balance of fun and responsibility for your day.

Your chance for a Key Life Choice: How do you integrate responsibility, joy and fun into your life? What childhood memories reconnect you with your natural sense of play and curiosity? How can you bring those qualities into your present to support you in finding joy in the responsibilities of your adult life?