As I sit here writing, the rain is pelting against my window. Pea sized hail is landing on my back deck. Three of my tomato plants have blown over. (Note to self…no more staking plants, stick to the cages that keep three feet firmly in the ground.)
This was going to be the afternoon of my grand adventure. We were going to pack up the boys and head over to this summer’s JazzFest. Every year since we (we being my husband in this case) has come up with an excuse not to go. It’s too hot. It’s too humid. We’ll be miserable. And every year I wondered what happened to the girl who would load up with a car full of friends on Thursday nights to drive half an hour just to hear local jazz bands play in the park. Do all adventures end when you have a family, a job, RESPONSIBILITIES?
This year I decided humidity or not, we were going. We had it planned out. And then, possible thunderstorms. Possible. The irrepresible part of me wanted to go anyway. The responsible part of me said “Yes, and what will you do with two small children when it starts to rain and your car is parked half a mile away?” Suddenly I felt old.
I never wanted to get ‘old’ old. Older, sure. Bring on the wrinkles and the age spots. (Well, not literally…I can wait, really I can.) But ‘old’? Afraid to try new things? Afraid of mussing my hair? Afraid of venturing outside of the expected? No, I was always going to stay young and exciting. Not doing things just because it was too hot or might rain was never part of my plan.
We didn’t go. The voice of reason (which sounded suspiciously like my husband) won out. And I’m glad it did, because they sent everyone back to their cars and homes. Live music and crowds on a large open grassy space in the midst of a thunderstorm really isn’t a very good idea. Maybe we would have made it back to our car in time, and maybe we wouldn’t have. Maybe the boys would have thought it was an adventure or maybe they would have hated being wet and been terrified of the storm.
There will be other adventures to have, other music to listen to, other memories to make. And maybe someday the sensible side of me will reconcile with my inner wild child. (No really, stop laughing, I DO have an inner wild child, I really do.) And when that day comes I’ll be able to be sensible AND march to the beat of my own drum at the same time. I’ll be able to choose one or the other without feeling guilty. If I stay dry I’ll be happy, and if I get a little wet it will be ok.