Don’t you just wish sometimes you didn’t have to grow up? Don’t you just wish sometimes you could throw away the shackles of respectability and responsibility and do the things you did when you were young?
My children have yet to develop the habit of picking up after themselves—it’s a work in progress, taking many many years to complete. I often think how freeing it would be to not care where my clothes landed only to find them in my cupboard the next day, or have a tantrum in the supermarket, or spit out food I don’t like.
Wouldn’t it be deliciously freeing to act badly. I’m not talking about illegal or hurtful, just mad and silly and embarrassing like running naked in the rain, sleeping under the stars with nothing but a pillow and your lover by your side, diving into glacial waters in the middle of snow capped mountains, making love with a handsome stranger on an over sized bed in a Viennese hotel with the sun streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows, jumping from a bridge with elastic tied around your legs. I think you get the picture. By the way, some of these things I’ve done, some I haven’t.
When did life slow down for me. When did I forget to live instead of exist. Maybe I should surprise my husband with a short holiday somewhere exotic, just the two of us. Then I could surprise him even more by insisting we spend our day naked in the spa.
I think these things as I pick my children up from school, when I get home and wash out lunchboxes, and help with homework and prepare dinner.
Perhaps, maybe perhaps I should just take the risk. You’re never too old to live young.