What Happens If You Lay Down Under A Cow?...

“Life moves pretty fast…” once intoned a certain Ferris Bueller. “If you don’t stop and look around once in a while - you could miss it!”

One hopes that Ferris, where-ever he is and whatever he’s up to in middle-age, has stayed true to himself. Because upon reaching a certain age, excuses as to why one is unable to do the things they truly long to, become rife.

I’m constantly reminded that the reason I have so much fun and explore so much with my kids is my uniquely being able to devote them my entire attention for the 2.3 days a fortnight we spend together. An utterly fair assessment by their labour-saving-device-heavy full-time parents; for the uber benevolent ‘domestic chore’ fairies that favour me whilst working away from home 5 days a week, do indeed lavish unto me favouritism in extremis...
Do not blight me with excuses.

Just one example. For whilst it would be easy to rake over the common sense prevailing/dispensed by associates and either never venture out, or adhere to a strict bedtime on a ’school night’ - in the spirit of Ferris I say: ‘to hell with excuses and consequences‘.

Life moves pretty fast, don’t you know?…

So it was as Tuesday fumbled into Wednesday, with freezing cold pebbles nuzzling my back, as I traced constellations gazing down upon Brighton beach, the waves running laps and the almost full-moon open mouthed at the showy athleticism from a brace of comets. This on the back of inadvertently gate crashing a private function and excelling at some mutated form of basketball utilising the type of oversized handbag that could easily harbour several generations of illegal immigrants (a sport which has subsequently been copywrit as 'basketbag' I believe) I resisted the urge to berate myself too harshly, nudging away thoughts of sensible curfews and the anaesthesia of routine. My job, my home, my accumulated items of cloth and plastic - these could all dissolve with a second’s notice (and frequently threaten to do so). But it’s moments like that on the beach, completely off the timetable and gloriously without contrivance, that stokes the fire of my existence and feeds the warmth of wonderful memories.

We’re taught from an early age that modesty and humility are desirable bedfellows should we wish to become well adjusted, unremarkable members of polite society. And whilst no-one loves a bighead - aside from themselves (and most probably - big hat salesfolk) - should we be so overly mindful of celebrating our minor triumphs against such rigid, unimaginative conformity? I’m not saying that my frivolous detours are life changing or holding them up as any template by which others should live (I mean - who the f**k am I to set any kind of example?), but to reflect upon such moments and hold one’s head high having yet again resisted the succubus of excuse, I feel is some cause celebre.

As I’m sure you’ve surmised - the answer to my pun-baiting title is; ‘a great big pat on the back’... And if you are already one to spurn the allure of the rock-steady, please give yourself one right now(!) I mean it. Personally, there are times - whether it be from single status or the autonomy of my work regime, that without a self congratulatory moment, I’d just be bouncing from one minor triumph to another with nary a cursory ‘well done‘. And so sometimes, physically - and if not metaphorically, I will give myself a well deserved pat on the back. As ridiculous as this sounds and initially feels, I find it works wonders.

Now whilst far from being a quintessential ‘Yes Man’ - and although much of my exuberance is sprung from the haphazard nature of life’s little trinkets, I’ve decided this year to supplement my randomness in order to absolutely stave off apathetic bad habits. My birthday happens to fall on the 24th day of a month and as is customary when I have a glass/bottle of wine in my hand, I recently spewed out a barely conceived idea that has since passed into Law. That is, on the 24th day of every month, I’m going to experience something entirely new.

I’m not trying to franchise fun in some lame & witless ‘Spontaneity Day - Same Time, Same Place - Every Month’ irony. The off-piste moments I’m confident will continue to tug at my sleeve. The 24th is - as I say - in one way supplementary to this and in another - a mini-celebration, a nice big pat on the back - for staying true to one’s self. A once in a while reminder to stop and look - and not miss life as it whizzes past.

I feel like I owe it to me and my six year old self. Don’t you?

Stay true.
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