“And the sun and the moon sometimes argue over who will tuck me in at night. If you think I am having more fun than anyone on this planet, you are absolutely correct.”
We have just crossed the thick of the Christmas and New Year’s frenzy. I’m usually at the beach by now, far, far away from the snow, traffic, and malls. For my birthday, Christmas, and the arrival of the New Year I’m normally on the ocean watching my beloved whales and dolphins and wandering about the cobblestoned streets of Vallarta in flip-flops and shorts. Thank God (and I mean that) for sunshine and clean roads on my corporate gift deliveries from one end of Jackass Trail to the other pre-Christmas.
I’ve recently passed through a gut wrenching health scare, and a good chunk of 2014 was about as much fun as having a chapped bum. But I have had many intensely fun and pleasure-filled periods in my life. Some have been naughty and some have been nice. Truth be told, the naughty times have been the highlights. My two favourite things in life are travel and romance (hence, The Cuban Chronicles).
After a long, parched year of brooding I’ve been thinking back to when life was the most fun. This tale goes back to a long time ago (when the earth was green and there were more kinds of animals than you’ve ever seen).
It was a zany period après divorce when I was dating a tall, fun-loving fireman in Calgary (I was traveling here on business half of the time), a younger Polish hottie in Edmonton (where I lived), and a sweet coworker (we’ll call him Business Dude) who lived in another province, and whom I’d see in various locations on our mutual business dealings.
Now before you judge, the fireman had no interest in a committed relationship, the Polish Pickle had emphatically told me not to get serious about him when we first met, and Business Dude was in the midst of a separation that I suspected would end in a reunion. So I was a free agent.
The fun culminated in a most unexpected sitcom-type weekend. And I swear, this is a true story. It does illustrate the weird workings of men’s primal instincts. Had I been dating only one of these men, none of these declarations would have happened because I would have been too “available.” But because I was being courted by more than one and had the aura of a non-clingy, free-as-a-bird woman, I apparently became something to conquer.
I normally saw Fireman only when I was working in Calgary. On this particular weekend, he decided he couldn’t wait for my next trip and planned a Friday visit to see me in Edmonton. That worked because I had no plans with the Polish Pickle and Business Dude wasn’t flying in until Monday for a trade show.
Friday morning, the Polish Pickle called to say he urgently needed to see me. Could I go for lunch? I had time. Fireman was arriving in the evening. Just as I was running out the door to leave for lunch, the phone rang. It was Business Dude.
Surprise all right. This wasn’t working out as I’d planned. At all.
When I arrived for lunch with the Polish Pickle, he was sporting a crisp suit. What the hell? Over an elegant meal he told me his parents were flying in from Poland soon and he wanted me to meet them. I guess the suit was to give the request a more formal air.
“What for?” I asked in confusion, remembering that when we’d first met he’d given me his version of “baby, baby don’t get hooked on me” after I’d made an especially delectable Euro-style Sunday brunch.
“I want them to meet the future Mrs. Chmilovich!” he announced.
Oh for God’s sake, I thought. I straightened that nonsense out over lunch, but The Pickle left dejected and deflated. (He probably later thanked God for unanswered prayers.)
Next, I sped off to the hotel. There I told Business Dude that I couldn’t spend the weekend with him. I had a cousin coming to town.
He wasn’t buying it and burst into tears. Yes, I said tears.
“I came here early because I came to tell you that I love you.”
Oh, come on. Seriously?
I knew there was no way this would work out long term with his deeply domestic nature and my wild child ways. He was only temporarily enamoured because my seemingly Bohemian lifestyle was exciting compared to his weekends of yard maintenance and child rearing.
After a long discussion, I finally convinced him I had to leave.
I made it home just in time for the arrival of Fireman, who suddenly declared he wanted a real relationship. I was completely frazzled, but exhilarated. I mean, what fire sign girl wouldn’t love the chase?
I reminisce at the New Year’s commencement over this crazy little story to remind myself that life can be wild, fun, and free again. Yes, poo happens. Yes, I’m older. But what if, Alfie, she/he who has the most fun wins?
There are far too many fun killers: worry, focusing on the news, playing by too many rules, taking life too seriously, busy-ness, and doing crap you hate.
Last year I was once again warned of how short an Earth life span is. As I enter 2015, I ponder … how can I make life a lot more fun? How can I dislodge myself from tedium and get back to my fun-loving essence?
In the last quarter of the 2014, I created a 40-day journey of discovery for myself (symbolic of the J man’s 40 days in the desert). It was at times painful, somewhat shocking, and a lot revealing. I learned what I set out to learn. As I enter 2015, I have created for myself a 40-day journey out of the desert. Out of the dry, bum chapping monotony.
It involves a whole lot more heart-spaced living. It is our brains that get our bodies into knots and malaise with overthinking and analysis. It is the heart which loves to laugh, loves to play, and wants us to have fun.
My mind has taken me down some dark, scary roads, but my heart has never lead me astray. It wants me to be real and to enjoy life; the story I divulge above was one of me being myself, no matter what anyone else thought of my behaviour. And I had the time of my life!
As you enter the New Year, along with your intentions, goals, or rigid resolutions, consider bringing your heart into the game of life. But you’ve got to take the time to listen. It can’t be heard in the staccato of the daily grind–a little piece of silence is required on a regular basis. Heed its messages.
Happy, happy 2015!
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