Hold onto your hats, kids, because I not only scheduled some fun, I went off script and interrupted my post ski, I-will-do-nothing-but-sit-here-until-it's-acceptable-to-pass-out routine, and I said yes to a bowling invite. FOR THE SAME DAY.
Boom. Suck it, 2023, I am owning you. (Sort of. I did pick Liv up from practice Friday night wearing socks, Crocs, and a puffer that's sole purpose was to hide my jammies).
More importantly, I realized that this year of 52 interruptions has helped me and Old Man River keep a promise we made to each other once-upon-a-time. A promise that, like this 2023 promise, forced us into something new.
A few years ago, River and I reflected on our marriage (as we are prone to do from time to time, healthy communication and all that jazz), and we started making the conscious effort to do more things together, to not live life in parallel activities. It sounds odd, but for two people who work together, and spend 99% of their day in the same place, we realized how easy it was to just be together, not really doing anything. We could sit on the beach, take a hike, make dinner, go on a vacation, all of the easy things, which is good. It's important to be able to just be, but when it came to getting out, to adventuring, to learning new things and expanding who we are as people, we realized maybe we were being a bit separate.
I don't like to be bad at things. To be clear, this dislike does not, in fact, keep me from being bad at things, it just makes me very aware of the possibility of failure, which might keep me from trying new things. (Read: it absolutely does. Or did...new leaf and all that.) But Old Man River...he has this belief, you know? This way of living that doesn't adhere or bend to fear and failure, but thinks of only the experience. Who cares if you're the slowest person on the trail, you rode it, didn't you?
I mean, yes? But I also fell off my bike, and had to walk, and made you wait. Again, he asked, who cares? Well, fuck, I do...but literally no one else. So, noted.
Which brings us to now, this weekend, when River and I kept our promise to each other and went on an adventure together, before coming home and saying yes to an impromptu game of bowling and an evening in the arcade...with other people. Lots of other people. So many. And I knew some of them, said hello, even gave some hugs and "how are yous?" The horror.
Even though I was the slowest on the mountain (and maybe fell down in slow motion getting off the chairlift because I was enamored with a little kid snowboarding dressed as a squirrel) and the worst in bowling by approximately one million points, I was living intertwined with my husband, in a life where literally no one around me cares if I'm last. In fact, Fergie was pretty fucking ecstatic when she almost won in bowling, until Old Man River got a spare on his last frame and came in like a dark horse for a win. Dickhead.
Ahem, anywho...the moral of this off-the-rails story is that I'm learning 2023 is not just about this year's promise, but a promise from years back, a promise to not be afraid of living just because I might be bad at it. Living isn't a competition; from this I can take a page out of Livvy Love's book. Living is the experience, the moment and joy and love and coffee you drink while everyone else, who might be faster or stronger or make friends more easily, drinks beer. And are happy you're there, god knows why. But then again, now that you've said yes, you're pretty fucking glad to be there, too.
Cheers to living a little uncomfortably, people, and getting out there anyway. I bowled a 74...with bumpers. Surely your adventure might be more successful than that?
Until next week,
xoxo
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