Yeah, yeah, yeah, but you’re intrigued, aren’t you? So am I. How do I do it? How do I make life three syllables? Really, how? You know by now that I work from home (in Minnesota, so you know I’m not getting out much between November and May) (did you count the number of months, by the way?) (yes, that’s about 7)(and yes, I’m aware of the grammar rules broken by four comments in parenthesis in a row), that my world consists of my other half Chris, two dogs, a parrot, and my job. That’s my life. I’m not complaining. Okay, I am. But not really. Let’s just call it taking stock.
What’s my point? There’s no point in taking stock unless you do something with the stock you’ve taken. Whoa. Heavy. But seriously, how many times have I taken stock of my life, resolved to make changes, edits or revisions, or just to slow down? And I make those changes, edits and revisions, and even slow down, and then find myself facing the same dilemma months or years later. Taking stock again. So, back to square one, aren’t we. Does that mean that all my angst from previous stock-taking was misplaced? I don’t think so. I just don’t think I let it take. Just didn’t sit with it long enough.
So I forced myself to sit with it for a bit tonight. And here’s what I came up with… I’ve knocked myself unconscious in Annie Leibowitz’s bathroom and brought round again by the photographer herself with the ice I dumped in her toilet. I’ve fallen 75 feet off the side of a Norwegian Cruise Line cruise ship and lived to tell about it. I’ve served Charlie Rose, Nora Ephron and Tom Brokaw dinner — and all at the same dinner party. I’ve para-sailed into the side of a Winnebego camper and survived unscathed. I knocked on doors every day for a year and a half in Japan as a Mormon missionary offering something outside of the Big Bang theory to a people too kind and gracious to do anything but listen. I understudied Tommy Tune for a July 4th Spectacular at Walt Disney World. I’ve moved 6 times within the last 18 months. I performed inspirational vocal solos at meetings where Quarterback Steve Young delivered inspirational talks — all while being asked to leave Brigham Young University for being gay. I’ve worked home construction and stepped off the foundation of a house, fallen 15 feet to the concrete floor face first with minor scratches and landed the rest of the day off. I performed naked on stage for six months in New York City. I’ve been kissed by Sir Ian MacKellen. I worked graveyard shifts at a 7-11 and hosed off the parking lot every night barefoot and loved it — the regulars called me Huck Finn. I succesfully pitched a multi-million dollar PR program over the phone to a bank executive on a Mexican beach. I lived 22 months at sea… That’s not necessarily monosyllabic.
I think I’m getting the picture. Sitting with it helps. Life IS three syllables. It’s four syllables. It’s a sentence, a paragraph. It’s pulp fiction, a novel, a tome. And sometimes? It sucks. And other times? It’s glorious. I just have to sit with it long enough to get a sense of what it is today. And today? It’s Winter. It’s still fucking, brutal Winter. But Spring is around the corner. So watch out. I sense more syllables on the way.