Like the soft winds that hint of a distant storm, the happy notes of an indistinct song wafted over me. I swung on my porch swing and smiled. Someone's happy. Then the strains intensified, and I knew. The Singer approached. Without seeing her, I pictured the young woman: MP3 player to her ear, playing music only she could hear. The singer belted out the lyrics in a manner that would have made Paula Abdul cringe, let alone Simon Cowell. The song intensified, and she wailed like a cow giving breach birth to co-joined calves.You'd never catch me doing that. The more's the pity.
The world would be a better place if we just cut lose and enjoyed ourselves. Because I refuse to look the fool, I lost out on many things in life:
- I refused to learn the guitar in high school because I felt silly carrying the huge instrument. It wasn't until my late thirties that I dared picked up the bassoon (talk about the aforementioned cow).
- I never sing if I can be heard--and it certainly brings me down in church and other places. I used to love it, and singing is a cathartic activity. I have nothing on The Singer--except a loss of joy.
- In my twenties, I refused to run because I thought I looked silly. Turns out I'm a fast runner. Today, I love it--but it took me twenty years to overcome my fear of looking foolish, and to discover the joys of a runner's high.
