The day of the trip to Benihana's YaYa climbed a tree in the park. No biggie, she's done it before.
This time, however, I felt a physical urge, a yearning, to climb one myself. A thousand warning klaxons, all built over the last 34 years to contain and restrict me to what is safe and 'acceptable', rose to scare me off. And they worked. I backed off.
But then I thought on just how often, and it is often, that I found myself in that scenario. Not tree climbing, obviously, but 'not' doing something innocuous that every fiber of my being - save one or two stray Stick in the Mud genes - would like to do.
Big things, like the Nirvana concert I skipped out of sheer . . whatever the hell that rationale was in '93.
Small things, like resisting the urge for a last second dash to the video store before closing.
And things in between - like the tree climbing.
Somewhere inside my head I said 'F it' and started up the trunk. In a few seconds I was ten feet and a few limbs up in the air (I am, as I've mentioned, spry for a large man).
I couldn't believe how easy it was, frankly, how easy it *usually* is for my body to do as my mind instructs, when given the rare opportunity.
All this led to a bit of an internal policy change, one that would soon lead to a positive milestone for my girls in the weeks to come . .
More later . . . .