Ride the Chicken

I love dressing up – nope, I don’t mean “dressing up” in the adult sense like fancy dress, high heels, nylons (torture!), along with makeup and jewelry. I mean “dressing up” kid-style. You know how you did it when you were a kid - you became a superhero by tying a “cape” (also known as a towel, or a sheet) around your neck, wearing your underwear over some tights, thermals, or pajama bottoms. Or you put on a Halloween costume just for play, dressed up as your favorite TV or movie character, as an animal or something. My kids even had a big trunk full of costume pieces – left over Halloween costumes or their parts, capes, hats, masks, . . . the list just goes on and on. Kids know how to have fun. We grow up, become “responsible, mature adults”, and somehow lose that part of ourselves. Or do we? Maybe we don’t lose it. Maybe we just hide it away for most of the year. When October rolls around, out comes that love of dressing up and we go all out for Halloween parties.

Here’s the thing though, I love dressing up so much, I don’t want to just do it just once a year at Halloween. I look for opportunities to dress up and be someone else for awhile. Don’t be making a face like I’m the only one. There’s a bunch of us out there.

I know this one guy who got himself a full-body chicken suit – bright yellow feathers, mask, red wings, and rubber chicken feet. Very fun. One day (not in October) he put the thing on and just wandered around and hung out in downtown Santa Barbara in it. He got looks, he got comments, he had a blast. He even went into a restaurant – didn’t say a word, just picked up the menu and looked it over. Everyone turned their heads and waited to see what was going to happen. What was this 6 foot chicken going to do? Apparently the chicken was in a fowl mood, didn’t like what he saw on the menu, or maybe he felt he was over-dressed - and turned to leave without a word. Someone stopped him, saying, “What are you doing? You can’t just come in here and then leave without saying anything at all.” The chicken just turned and looked and said, in his most dignified voice, “Cluck, cluck,” and walked out. If you ask me, this guy has got it. He knows how to have fun. He got even more creative when he moved off to Boston.

He brought that chicken suit with him and one night there was a party going on in his building. Lot’s of college age folks having a party. Into the chicken suit he went and off to the party. Here’s where he got really innovative. He started offering the party-goers a chance to ride the chicken for a buck. Yup, he had those inebriated people paying him a dollar to jump on his back and go for a ride. I wonder what people thought when they drove past, seeing people riding big yellow chicken? My friend had fun and made a few bucks in the most creative way I’ve heard about in awhile.

I look for times to dress up and have some fun in a weird way. It makes me laugh and feel young and sort of wild and crazy. Other people get a kick out of it too, just seeing me dressed up all weird. So give it a try – you can keep it at home and dress up for some bedroom fun, or take it out into public for a good time. It keeps you young and keeps life fun.

The Dash

What are we doing here? Isn’t that the big question in life . . . and for some of us, myself included, often in the grocery store or in a room I’ve just entered. I ask myself, “What did I come in here for?” or “What was it I supposed to buy?” Then at some point, we ask that question about life – what am I doing here? What did I come here for? I suppose for every 10 people you ask, you might easily get 10 different answers to that all-important question. Well, since I’ve had my own epiphany pretty recently, I’ll share my expert thoughts as well. Why not, right? I’m as much of an expert about life on planet Earth as anyone else. I’ve been here for over 40 years, tried a bunch of different stuff, and have actually learned a few things along the way. I suppose this is my biggest lesson of all.

Years ago I was in a cemetery – wish I could tell you why, but I can’t really remember. I told you it was years ago. Anyway, I was checking out the gravestones, because there really isn’t much else to do in a cemetery. Of course, when you are there, walking among dead bodies, it’s a bit hard not to think about the obvious --- death, your own in particular. There I am, checking out these headstones and they have the standard birthdate, a dash, then the date the person died, along with some profound statement that is supposed to summarize the essence or life of person whose bones are buried six feet below. The most important thing on those headstones to me is the dash, not the numbers and not the phrase. Yup, that little hyphen between one date and the other. That’s where the person’s life was – right there in the dash. It’s not so important what date they were born or what date they died. Life is all about the dash. Don’t tell any history teachers I said that, because you know how they love to have students memorize dates (of birth and death mainly it seems). So how do we evaluate the dash? This is where my big epiphany comes in.

For me, the quality of your life can be measured in the fun you had, the experiences you had, and how much you loved. Maybe that’s not terribly deep or philosophical, but that’s my truth. If you want deep and philosophical, this just ain’t the place for you. When you get to the end of the road, that big jumping off point, the end of the dash, that’s where you really get to figure out what’s important. I’ve never heard of anyone, in their last few moments, wishing for more time at work, wishing they had done more tedious housework. It’s usually all about things they wish they’d done, tried, or taken a chance at. Or it’s about relationships – wishing they had loved more, not lost a relationship over something dumb, or said they were sorry when they had the chance.

For me, a full life is a life where I played, I had fun, and I loved with all my heart. For me it’s never been about “the American dream” – amassing stuff, being rich, attaining some position, having a secure long-term career. I want to play. Sound a bit immature? Sound like Peter Pan syndrome? If so, then I must be saying this just right. I want to experience life in its fullest. I want to squeeze every last drop of life out of each day. I want death to have to run to catch me. I’m not going to just plod along in the rat race, watching each day slip into a fog of where-did-the-time-go. I’m going to go after my dreams, no matter what anyone else thinks of them. I'm determined to look back over my life, when I’m nearing the end of the dash, with no regrets. I don’t want to look back and have a bunch of dreams unfulfilled, things I was too afraid to try, or regrets.

I’ve recently taken to writing little reminders and mantras for myself on rocks. I bought myself a Dremmel and have been inscribing words on rocks that I pick up on my walks on the beach. I just wrote myself a reminder on a big rock. “Make time to play.” I put it up on the kitchen counter where I see it everyday. It’s my reminder to live, live big, and make the most of my dash.