It was 10 am and I was heading out to the dreaded grocery store. Before I got out of the driveway, I put together a play list that would wrap itself around my rather spunky mood at the time. I backed out of the driveway and hit play. Suddenly, my truck transformed in to my very own one woman show. I became that person.
Ben Howard had me contemplating the constraints of fear. Eminem and Sia had me fist pumping the idea of guts over glory. Iggy Azalea turned me in to the most bad-ass rappin’ momma you’ve ever seen. I was a black widow baby. Oh yeah, I was in the zone.
The road became my stage and I owned the floor. I didn’t care that the car behind me probably thought I was having some sort of freak attack, as the back end of my truck mimicked my own hind end. When I got stuck at a four way, waiting for adequate space between cars so that I could make a left hand turned, I turned the music up. I didn’t care the cars behind me, beside me and in front of me could see my ridiculous ass, as I bopped my head, sang like I was double-fisting margheritas, got my duck face on and dropped it like it was hot, as much as one can while in a vehicle.
As I finally got the chance to make that turn, I made eye contact with a car full of women that appeared to be around my age. They were laughing out loud. One shot me a thumbs up and another was swooping the air with her fist in that Arsenio Hall kind of way. I threw my head back and laughed and waved. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I knew how they were feeling, as they caught me gettin’ my dance on underneath that traffic light. It’s that kind of thing where you hear a complete stranger belly laugh and you can’t help but laugh yourself. Joy is contangious like that.
That 20 minute ride left me more refreshed than I have felt in a while.
There is magic in those moments when you don’t give a shit about what people think. Those rare minutes we are lucky enough to sometimes have, when joy wins and life allows you to drink it right up. It’s that spunk that we all seem to lose a bit of as we get older. As we fall in to the role of adult, we unfortunately worry too much about what other people think. It gets in the way of spontaneous fun. We go looking for that elusive bullshit called a “happy life” and forget that happiness is only mere moments that we have to let happen.
“Take time for yourself.” We women hear that all the damn time. What does that even mean? Ain’t nobody got time for that! On the daily, I am a SAHM with financial and emotional stress that hangs heavy on every thought I own. I don’t have the ability to take time. What I had that day was the awareness that I could have a moment.
That’s what we should be reminding each other. Own the fleeting moments when you are in a good mood and go with it. Turn on some tunage and drop it like it’s hot mommas! Turn the spatuala into a diamond studded microphone and let your inner tone def Mariah Carey out. Our kids and husbands are going to laugh at us anyway, right?
I wish I could bottle that exuberant, I-don’t-give-a-frick attitude I had yesterday. I wish that shit was pixie dust I could just cover myself in when a funk sets in. Truth be told, life wears me down. More than I would like to admit. Depression is a monster under my bed and I don’t let loose nearly enough. I’m not 20-something anymore and liquid encouragement isn’t something I can depend on to help me feel alive. “Good times” aren’t readily available when adulthood meets parenthood and collides with the stressful reality we all live in.
The music is still in all of us. We just have to let it out. We have to allow ourselves to tap in to that childlike joy, that silliness, that inner rock star we all have lying dormant in side of us. What I know for sure is happiness is fleeting. It will slip right through your fingers if you don’t nurture it in the rare moments it’s begging to make an appearance. Ladies, when our ever swinging moods hit a high note, we need to take full advantage! Put the real world on hold…and just dance people!
W.T.F. 