422 to 202 to 30, 40 minutes down. 30 to 202 to 422, 40 minutes back. I know the route I drive to work every day so well now that I can probably do it with my eyes closed (I'll bring you another post on how that goes). I like the drive--I can think, I can sing, I can eat sunflower seeds so I don't fall asleep, and unlike last year's commute, I hit no traffic. And lately in my thinking time on this robotically routine drive, I've been wondering...Where has all the adventure gone? Recently surfacing to my mind was the memory of a particular day during the last year my best friend Jake lived in PA. At this time we were living in the townhouse at Copper Beech at the end of Vairo Boulevard. I can't recall what we were doing or what room we were in, but I remember our reaction to a sudden, unexpected torrent of rainfall that befell the area. We both looked at each other and thought, We must go outside. NOW.
And we did. And the sky was apparently releasing months of pent-up, heartbroken tears all at once. Not even a few minutes passed between the time the rain began and the moment we stepped outside, our shoes and our inhibitions left inside the townhouse, and rivers were already running alongside the sidewalks and the street. Much skipping and hearty laughter ensued as we galloped down Vairo, the huge raindrops like liquid jelly beans falling around us.
Farther down the street, we came upon a pool of water that was forming in a large drainage basin in the grass by our old apartment. Yes, we swam in it, and yes, good times were had (and no, we contracted no diseases that I know of). At one point, there was even discussion of attempting to climb up the drainage pipe that was supplying us with our pool water.
I look back on that day and cherish it for what it was--a moment of dashing caution to the floor, shattering it to a thousand pieces, drinking in life during a brief moment when it seemed to be poured out in a greater quantity than usual.
I have to ask...why don't we play in the rain more?
The answer? We are too busy, always having somewhere to be. We can't afford to get our clothes wet, our shoes wet, our hair wet. Or we're too comfortable. Or we believe we're too old for that now. Call me idealistic, but I never want to be too old to play in the rain1 (see below for things you can be old too for).
Where has our spirit of adventure gone? Why are we afraid of puddles, or mud, or snow?
When did the routine become so ingrained in us that we hesitate to stray from it?
I know several people who have never been the type to want to play in the rain, nor ever will be...and that's fine. But for me...I have to find these adventures. And I miss the people who found them with me.
Part 2 tomorrow: My mini-adventure as I wrote Part 1.
1A few things you can be too old for: tube tops, breastfeeding, male earrings, driving.