I always hear or read about "The Good 'Ol Days." I sit and listen as people discuss in great detail what they did when they were young and wild and foolish, even when, supposedly, the still are. Under thirty and you're already old and reminiscing? Lately, in moments of boredom, I flip from journal to journal, and find time and again stories of those old days, when people were too foolish to understand the risks they took and, laughing all the while, took ones that ranged from just amusing to dangerous as hell.
And I wonder.
Courage, great deeds, fun times. If you stop and think about it, the all have an element of utter stupidity. No sane man would throw himself in front of a bullet to save another man. No clear thinking person would ever try to launch themselves into the air on the flimsiest of wings, especially when it had never been done before, and <i>most</i> especially not in the face of all who had failed and even <i>died</i> trying in the past. There's no good sense in climbing to the peak of Mt. Everest or jumping out of a plane. There is <i><b>no</b></i> common sense in putting yourself into a flimsy metal tube and launching yourself into space, or running into a burning building, or walking through unstable wreckage looking for people who are probably already dead on the off chance just <i>one</i> survived, or any of the other thousands of things people do every day for fun, or for science, or for heroism. If you stop and think about it, you're only really alive when you allow you higher brain functions to occasionally shut down, and just enjoy life for everything it is, no rules, no regrets, and a suspension of natural fear and common sense.
People like to remaniss about "The Good 'Ol Days" as if they were young and foolish, and were lucky to have lived through their folly. They have a sort of condescension along with their nostalgia, as if, given the exact same oportunities right now, they wouldnt take them. And they probably wouldnt, they're too "adult" for that now. For them, these are the days that are dead and gone, stories to tell their grandkids when the holo-tv breaks or virtual reality games go on the fritz, wedged somewhere between momentary fascination and affectionate indifference.
I cant say much for my own "Good 'Ol Days." I mean, I never got drunk slap stupid and then drove somewhere to frighten and annoy complete strangers because it got my rocks off. I never drove a VW van full of drugs at insane speeds from North Carolina to New York. I never sat on the stage a Rocky Horror show pretending to be the humpalicious sugar daddy of two Mormon girls so well that a fell RH actor called me a sick motherfucker (a story I adore more every time I hear it, btw, dont get me wrong on any of these). I never drove off on a road trip with three people with varying sanity levels, two of which were wanted by the cops and the most unstable of which may or may not have had a gun. I never climbed a light pole at Mardi Gras or tried to summon Cthulu with a spell that caused every dog in a four mile radius to start barking or had a contest to see who could get laid the most with the only pickup line being; "Hey, wanna fuck?" Mostly, my life as a whole has been what might classically be called boring. Contrary to popular opinion, I really am a mostly quiet person who spends more nights than not at home, and likes it that way.
Most people seem to do it all at once, a big bang effect, a "sowing of their wild oats." They slam into life yelling and screaming, get drunk and stupid, raise three forms of merry hell, and then...quit. They calm down, become a cog in the machine of society, their "wild oats" taper away until all you have left is someone who drinks a bit too much and often talks about the "Glory Days," when they were young and strong and stars of their own lives, and not just bit players in the lives of others. Most people's hey-days are over by the time they reach 25 to 30. After that its nothing but work, family, bills, taxes, and death. Oh, and maybe the occasional family vacation to give the trapped soul the illusion of freedom. They are the embodyment of the big bang, exploding out into the world, then drawing in upon themselves until, with a much more silent implosion, they collapse dead, and the reincarnation of their universe is their children, following the same sad pattern.
I cant say I've had the reckless abandoned youth so many people laud, nor can I say I have ever managed my own "Big Bang." But I know what I have done. I hiked the Ocalu trail when I was only twelve, and part of the Appalachian when I was thirteen. I lived in the woods for a year, carrying trees a mile or more down the mountain just to make tents I could sleep in. I went to one of the best raves ever, on 72 acres of land, where the only light was a bonfire and you could hear the music pumping for miles around. I once climbed a railroad signal light, just because I could. I shoplifted food and medicines when my family of the time had no money with which to buy either, sometimes sliding out of trouble only by the skin of my teeth. I have tied myself to a stranger's bed, just to see what would happen. When I was preganant I still went hiking as often as my legs would carry me, right up to the end, and even climbed the side of a mountain when five months along. Well...an easy mountain. *G* I had my baby with no drugs whatsoever. I once traveled out to Arizona simply because the yen took me to do so, two solid days of driving there and back, and in between I and my companion drove some more. I've stayed up on the phone all night convincing a friend not to commit suicide, then worked the next day. I've nursed small fuzzies through illnesses, though it cost me a job to do so. I have found myself at midnight walking down an empty road because my cousin's car broke down, then driving home with two strange men. Just last week I started learning to blow smoke rings. I also had a water balloon fight.
Some of it is obvious in its stupidity, but also in its life experiences, like what I once did with a stranger, or the shoplifting. Others are less so, you'd have to live them to understand, like nursing the fuzzies or having the baby. Some seem like nothing--a <i>water balloon</i> fight? At <i>my</i> age?? But trust me, you havent lived until you've slipped out of wet pants to find a wad of silly string lodged where it should never be, and wonder when exactly someone got the chance to put it there because it was all moving so fast with shreiking and laughing and then it was done too soon and you were soaked. But that water balloon fight was likely better--and safer, and probably more fun overall--than harassing strangers or running drugs.
It just occured to me, maybe my difference isnt a lack of adventure, but a lack the typical <i>type</i> of adventure. So many people bemoan the loss of being young enough to <i>dare,</i> the loss of what they were willing to do to <i>others.</i> Egging houses, toilet papering yards, smart mouthing, pulling cruel pranks or being an utter asshole, times they were young and beautiful and trampled on the hearts of the opposite sex or would smoke pot on the job and they didnt care who knew it. Or who got hurt. Mine's always been a bit different, and I just realized that looking at my list. Very few things there are done at <i>the expense</i> of others, all shoplifting aside. Most is <i>for</i> myself, the hiking and the baby and water balloon fighting and the smoke rings. Other people can, and in some cases <i>have to</i> join to make it fun, but at the end of the day when I go searching for an adrenaline pump or the silver lining on the dark cloud, I can do it without having to step on the heads of others, and almost every activity I can do alone if need be.
....I dont know if this makes me better or worse than other people, it just feels a little weird, this realization.
But I wonder if its why, in all my life, I can always point to at least one thing a year I did that was "couragous" in the true "stupidity" sense of the word. Each year, year after year, I have at least one "wild oat" story to tell, often more. I am not a good teller of my own stories--I only like being in the limelight when I'm on a stage, when people see only the aspects I want to show them--I am much better at the tales of others. But I have them, many more than imparted here or anywhere, perhaps more than I'll ever tell to anyone. Only one year of my life was an exception to that rule, the year I never left my room and even spent Christmas alone, recovering from a bad relationship and a broken life. And even that is almost a story in and of itself, that I could give of myself so fully to someone I loved that when I finally fell, it was hard. Not one I like to think about though.
Its a sometimes scattered, but largely unbroken line, these bright spots and wild moments I have, and I plan to continue to have them. There's a shop of glow-in-the-dark stuff, strobe light and neon glowies and other things I plan to take to my next rave. I dont know when I'll go, but I know I will. When I become a mother, I want to strap a wee one on my back and hike and climb and run and swim; they'll come with me as best I'm able to bring them. I want to road trip to every part of this country and, if I'm able, hike or somehow travel as the students do across Europe. I want to still be kissing my lifemate as if I just met him when I'm 80. I want to be the old lady who waterski's.
I wonder if that's why I've always been attracted to the lives of pagans and polyamorists and people into kink and other deviants. Like I want someday to be, at the ages of 40 and 50 and even older, they still have stories to tell, long and interesting lives that unfold like a storybook to a fascinated listener. Most of them still love like they're in their twenties, still hold hands with a spouse of fifteen years, still talk with enthusiasm of dreams they want to pursue and goals they want to acheive and the spark we all carry so easily when we are young still burns brightly inside of them, long after most others have burnt out. They never settle--settle down or settle for a second-best lover or a second-best life--or if they do, it isnt for long. They flow, shift, change, and often do it <i>while</i> holding down a job, <i>while</i> being a parent, <i>while</i> being responsible and having what most people consider a "cog in the machine" sort of life. I love that, being a trail blazer into a different way of life than what is considered "The Norm," having the constant fire in your life keep your passions, your desires, your sexuality and sensuality alive long after most allow theirs to go fallow, to wither and die.
Yeah, I really want to be the grandmother on water ski's. *G*
Its disconcerting to me, how many people at about my age, sometimes older, often younger, begin to shut down, shut out, give up, settle for second best, or just plain <i>settle.</i> Its at this time of life many people start setting their courses, and situating themselves into grooves and roles they plan to play for the rest of their lives. For them, all explorations, no matter how sought after or longed for, are over, and all thats left is what-once-was. From here they never shift or change unless forced too, and their dreams are pushed away for "maturity" and "responsibility." But really, how mature or responsible is it to push away and deny part of your spark and your soul? To portray to friends and children a life lived second-best as an acceptable way to be, or to teach that reaching for your dreams isnt even of secondary importance, but should always be last on your list?
Am I really so odd to be still seeking and finding, exploring and reacting, to think that, far from it being over, there are still wild oats to be sown, horizens yet to greet, worlds to conquer and explore, and to be continually thinking; <i>"The best is yet to come?</i>
And I wonder.
Courage, great deeds, fun times. If you stop and think about it, the all have an element of utter stupidity. No sane man would throw himself in front of a bullet to save another man. No clear thinking person would ever try to launch themselves into the air on the flimsiest of wings, especially when it had never been done before, and <i>most</i> especially not in the face of all who had failed and even <i>died</i> trying in the past. There's no good sense in climbing to the peak of Mt. Everest or jumping out of a plane. There is <i><b>no</b></i> common sense in putting yourself into a flimsy metal tube and launching yourself into space, or running into a burning building, or walking through unstable wreckage looking for people who are probably already dead on the off chance just <i>one</i> survived, or any of the other thousands of things people do every day for fun, or for science, or for heroism. If you stop and think about it, you're only really alive when you allow you higher brain functions to occasionally shut down, and just enjoy life for everything it is, no rules, no regrets, and a suspension of natural fear and common sense.
People like to remaniss about "The Good 'Ol Days" as if they were young and foolish, and were lucky to have lived through their folly. They have a sort of condescension along with their nostalgia, as if, given the exact same oportunities right now, they wouldnt take them. And they probably wouldnt, they're too "adult" for that now. For them, these are the days that are dead and gone, stories to tell their grandkids when the holo-tv breaks or virtual reality games go on the fritz, wedged somewhere between momentary fascination and affectionate indifference.
I cant say much for my own "Good 'Ol Days." I mean, I never got drunk slap stupid and then drove somewhere to frighten and annoy complete strangers because it got my rocks off. I never drove a VW van full of drugs at insane speeds from North Carolina to New York. I never sat on the stage a Rocky Horror show pretending to be the humpalicious sugar daddy of two Mormon girls so well that a fell RH actor called me a sick motherfucker (a story I adore more every time I hear it, btw, dont get me wrong on any of these). I never drove off on a road trip with three people with varying sanity levels, two of which were wanted by the cops and the most unstable of which may or may not have had a gun. I never climbed a light pole at Mardi Gras or tried to summon Cthulu with a spell that caused every dog in a four mile radius to start barking or had a contest to see who could get laid the most with the only pickup line being; "Hey, wanna fuck?" Mostly, my life as a whole has been what might classically be called boring. Contrary to popular opinion, I really am a mostly quiet person who spends more nights than not at home, and likes it that way.
Most people seem to do it all at once, a big bang effect, a "sowing of their wild oats." They slam into life yelling and screaming, get drunk and stupid, raise three forms of merry hell, and then...quit. They calm down, become a cog in the machine of society, their "wild oats" taper away until all you have left is someone who drinks a bit too much and often talks about the "Glory Days," when they were young and strong and stars of their own lives, and not just bit players in the lives of others. Most people's hey-days are over by the time they reach 25 to 30. After that its nothing but work, family, bills, taxes, and death. Oh, and maybe the occasional family vacation to give the trapped soul the illusion of freedom. They are the embodyment of the big bang, exploding out into the world, then drawing in upon themselves until, with a much more silent implosion, they collapse dead, and the reincarnation of their universe is their children, following the same sad pattern.
I cant say I've had the reckless abandoned youth so many people laud, nor can I say I have ever managed my own "Big Bang." But I know what I have done. I hiked the Ocalu trail when I was only twelve, and part of the Appalachian when I was thirteen. I lived in the woods for a year, carrying trees a mile or more down the mountain just to make tents I could sleep in. I went to one of the best raves ever, on 72 acres of land, where the only light was a bonfire and you could hear the music pumping for miles around. I once climbed a railroad signal light, just because I could. I shoplifted food and medicines when my family of the time had no money with which to buy either, sometimes sliding out of trouble only by the skin of my teeth. I have tied myself to a stranger's bed, just to see what would happen. When I was preganant I still went hiking as often as my legs would carry me, right up to the end, and even climbed the side of a mountain when five months along. Well...an easy mountain. *G* I had my baby with no drugs whatsoever. I once traveled out to Arizona simply because the yen took me to do so, two solid days of driving there and back, and in between I and my companion drove some more. I've stayed up on the phone all night convincing a friend not to commit suicide, then worked the next day. I've nursed small fuzzies through illnesses, though it cost me a job to do so. I have found myself at midnight walking down an empty road because my cousin's car broke down, then driving home with two strange men. Just last week I started learning to blow smoke rings. I also had a water balloon fight.
Some of it is obvious in its stupidity, but also in its life experiences, like what I once did with a stranger, or the shoplifting. Others are less so, you'd have to live them to understand, like nursing the fuzzies or having the baby. Some seem like nothing--a <i>water balloon</i> fight? At <i>my</i> age?? But trust me, you havent lived until you've slipped out of wet pants to find a wad of silly string lodged where it should never be, and wonder when exactly someone got the chance to put it there because it was all moving so fast with shreiking and laughing and then it was done too soon and you were soaked. But that water balloon fight was likely better--and safer, and probably more fun overall--than harassing strangers or running drugs.
It just occured to me, maybe my difference isnt a lack of adventure, but a lack the typical <i>type</i> of adventure. So many people bemoan the loss of being young enough to <i>dare,</i> the loss of what they were willing to do to <i>others.</i> Egging houses, toilet papering yards, smart mouthing, pulling cruel pranks or being an utter asshole, times they were young and beautiful and trampled on the hearts of the opposite sex or would smoke pot on the job and they didnt care who knew it. Or who got hurt. Mine's always been a bit different, and I just realized that looking at my list. Very few things there are done at <i>the expense</i> of others, all shoplifting aside. Most is <i>for</i> myself, the hiking and the baby and water balloon fighting and the smoke rings. Other people can, and in some cases <i>have to</i> join to make it fun, but at the end of the day when I go searching for an adrenaline pump or the silver lining on the dark cloud, I can do it without having to step on the heads of others, and almost every activity I can do alone if need be.
....I dont know if this makes me better or worse than other people, it just feels a little weird, this realization.
But I wonder if its why, in all my life, I can always point to at least one thing a year I did that was "couragous" in the true "stupidity" sense of the word. Each year, year after year, I have at least one "wild oat" story to tell, often more. I am not a good teller of my own stories--I only like being in the limelight when I'm on a stage, when people see only the aspects I want to show them--I am much better at the tales of others. But I have them, many more than imparted here or anywhere, perhaps more than I'll ever tell to anyone. Only one year of my life was an exception to that rule, the year I never left my room and even spent Christmas alone, recovering from a bad relationship and a broken life. And even that is almost a story in and of itself, that I could give of myself so fully to someone I loved that when I finally fell, it was hard. Not one I like to think about though.
Its a sometimes scattered, but largely unbroken line, these bright spots and wild moments I have, and I plan to continue to have them. There's a shop of glow-in-the-dark stuff, strobe light and neon glowies and other things I plan to take to my next rave. I dont know when I'll go, but I know I will. When I become a mother, I want to strap a wee one on my back and hike and climb and run and swim; they'll come with me as best I'm able to bring them. I want to road trip to every part of this country and, if I'm able, hike or somehow travel as the students do across Europe. I want to still be kissing my lifemate as if I just met him when I'm 80. I want to be the old lady who waterski's.
I wonder if that's why I've always been attracted to the lives of pagans and polyamorists and people into kink and other deviants. Like I want someday to be, at the ages of 40 and 50 and even older, they still have stories to tell, long and interesting lives that unfold like a storybook to a fascinated listener. Most of them still love like they're in their twenties, still hold hands with a spouse of fifteen years, still talk with enthusiasm of dreams they want to pursue and goals they want to acheive and the spark we all carry so easily when we are young still burns brightly inside of them, long after most others have burnt out. They never settle--settle down or settle for a second-best lover or a second-best life--or if they do, it isnt for long. They flow, shift, change, and often do it <i>while</i> holding down a job, <i>while</i> being a parent, <i>while</i> being responsible and having what most people consider a "cog in the machine" sort of life. I love that, being a trail blazer into a different way of life than what is considered "The Norm," having the constant fire in your life keep your passions, your desires, your sexuality and sensuality alive long after most allow theirs to go fallow, to wither and die.
Yeah, I really want to be the grandmother on water ski's. *G*
Its disconcerting to me, how many people at about my age, sometimes older, often younger, begin to shut down, shut out, give up, settle for second best, or just plain <i>settle.</i> Its at this time of life many people start setting their courses, and situating themselves into grooves and roles they plan to play for the rest of their lives. For them, all explorations, no matter how sought after or longed for, are over, and all thats left is what-once-was. From here they never shift or change unless forced too, and their dreams are pushed away for "maturity" and "responsibility." But really, how mature or responsible is it to push away and deny part of your spark and your soul? To portray to friends and children a life lived second-best as an acceptable way to be, or to teach that reaching for your dreams isnt even of secondary importance, but should always be last on your list?
Am I really so odd to be still seeking and finding, exploring and reacting, to think that, far from it being over, there are still wild oats to be sown, horizens yet to greet, worlds to conquer and explore, and to be continually thinking; <i>"The best is yet to come?</i>