I’d confess that I often have the urge to jump on my grocery cart as it hurdles toward my car in the slopy part of the parking lot but that’s not something for confession.
The real confession is that I DON’T jump on my cart and ride it as it hurdles toward my car in the slopy part of the parking lot.
When did that stop being a cultural “ok” I wonder.
I watched with awe today as a friend’s son hopped and skipped toward me. He was not outrageously excited about any one thing in particular. He was just in his body, moving from one place to another and expressing some unplaced and as yet unnamed joy.
I mourn that unexpressed joy. I know I still have it because I still want to jump on that cart. When I think of the roadblock, the voice in my head, that tells me to stop…don’t give in…control myself…when I think of that I feel sad.
I know there’s reward for being self controlled…I just think I’m choosing poorly. Self control as it applies to anger is good…but as it applies to joy…damn…let’s just live in that a little more, shall we?
Look for me in the parking lot, friends…around the slopy parts.