Like the woman in me who loves to laugh. A dear friend and I were sitting in a pub one afternoon (no, this is not the start of a joke) and we started talking about laughter and all the different types there are. Then we practiced them aloud. The snort, the silent one that contorts the face, the outlandish guffaw, the knee slapper. You get the idea. We laughed outright and sincerely, and our day beamed brighter for our exploration. Try it sometime when you’re with friends and could use a pick-me-up.
That’s a tidbit; a glimpse into a moment in my life where creativity handed me the rush of freedom. And I’m a whore for freedom. Rules were meant to be bent or broken, and absolutely they are merely guidelines. Walls might be vertical, but they were meant to be climbed. It’s no coincidence that the cliché about climbing the walls is uttered by someone feeling hemmed in. Scale the bastards; there’s a goddamned horizon up there at the top, go check it out.
Writing allows me to climb. Granted, I’m currently living a nomad’s existence where I have no boundaries, no fenced-in yard; but I still get itchy. Writing pitches me off to another realm, where I can escape to say hi to my many personalities, give my emotions their due, unleash them. It’s a gift, this writing. One I distinctly remember dawning. I recall the day–every blessed A-Ha! moment of it. I was ten. Ten freaking years old when it hit me, and I’ve never stopped.
Now, that doesn’t mean I’m great at it. What it means is that I’m never lonely even when I’m alone. It means I can conjure worlds and slip into them, I can give my creativity, my imagination, the substance of reality and find peace within those borders. Which makes me one of the luckiest women on this round jukebox we call Earth. Although, personally, I think all women are lucky. We are born with the gift to create life, or re-invent it. As Mona Lisa Schulz has said, “In life, when you focus on possibilities, they become probabilities.”
I like that. Taken a bit out of context, but the words apply to everything. They inspire. I’ll leave you with one more quote meant to rouse. My own. “PMS is a tool.” That simmering rage, unbound, has the satisfying ability to cut through the bullshit.
Now go find your friend(s), and laugh in as many ways as you can think up.