At any given moment, my brain is a tragedy jukebox, saying, “Hmmmm, which tragic moment shall we replay in elaborate detail for Marci right now?” Heart-shattering memories slice into my daily life with wild abandon, as I am forced to relive overwhelming loss.
So I sometimes ask myself, how do I keep standing? How do I keep plunging into the deep end of the pool? Leaping onto life’s giant floating peacock? (I realize this last simile doesn’t work but I like it too much to cut it.)
This is where my wild daring disobedient nature finally serves me.
In the past, my wild nature has often landed me in hot water, from the principal’s office in 3rd grade for kicking Danny Gardner after he tried to kiss me, to a 4th grade sit-down with the same principal for doing cartwheels down the sidewalk. There were even a few teensy arrests in high school for violating the town curfew and don’t get me started on the arrests for unpaid parking tickets–these my disobedient nature crumbled into a ball and promptly threw out the window, which I still do to this day, (although I do pay the little bastards when they come in the mail.)
I was even detained by immigration in London when they started asking me invasive questions like what I was doing in London, how long I was staying and how much money I had. I said it was none of their business – I believe in one world, one people and I should be able to travel wherever I want for however long I want. Off I went to detention where I defied their dull rules by doing what? Once again practicing my cartwheels down the corridor. (Don’t worry–in the end they decided I was not up to nefarious business and let me stay. I learned my lesson and I now have Global Entry so I can breeze through immigration without pesky questions.)
Just the sight of a man in uniform makes me want to cartwheel, or makes me want to date him. For example, in 7th grade I signed up for the elective of “drafting” because I thought it would be taught by Richard-Gere-type men in uniform. Alas, I found myself in a dim classroom at “drafting tables” drawing angles and architecture plans. I quickly transferred into P.E. because a vicious game of Dodgeball where I was walloped in the face so hard my nose bled or the wind was knocked out of me was only slightly better than having to incorporate math into pencil drawings.
But when it comes to crushing grief, my wild daring disobedient nature is actually a positive factor. There are so many moments each day when I want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head until all the people I love return to me. I feel so shattered that there are just too many pieces to gather up and glue back together.
I’m tired. I’m heartbroken. I’m not even me anymore. I’m back in bed, shutting the door on the world.
But then the wild one in me comes blasting through the door, karate-kicking the air and karate-chopping the tragedy jukebox and anything trying to push me down.
Although in my case, my inner karate kid wears fringe and sequins and kicks like a combination of a rockette, an untamed donkey, and a kid learning to chop through a board, but he does it with his eyes closed because he knows it’s going to hurt.
Sad-me puts my hands over my ears and says go away. Wild-me says get up! Get up! Seize life with both hands and get back on the wild ride. The tragedy jukebox can keep playing, but you, my dear, are getting up.
So when Cristie invites you over to ride her new peacock, say yes. When she calls you later and invites you over to sit in the hot tub under the moonlight, say yes (and ignore the pony-sized frog that decided to jump in with you.) When the music teachers from Spain invite you to sing karaoke at a Dungeons and Dragons cafe, say yes. A dance party in Leslie’s living room across the country? What time?
A book to be written? A movie to be made? A story to be told? I’m in!
No fear, no judgment, it can all end in a snap, so off I go.
I believe it was Hunter S. Thompson who said, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a ride!”
