When I was a kid I was seriously a NUTCASE.
See the cast on my hand? I told you I was nuts.
I made crass jokes, ran my mouth to the point of being in trouble (A LOT) and I had big opinions and voices and faces to go along with them.
I was a leader, I meant business, and I knew how to have a good belly laugh (and make you have one too.)
I didn’t really care how I looked or what you thought of how I looked, because I wasn’t thinking about you, or what you thought of me.
That’s because I really wasn’t thinking of me, yet. My innocent and still developing mind hadn’t yet formed self-consciousness.
I was just me – you were just you – and there was still no sign of “the committee” that would come to reside in my head for years to come.
Aaaaah.
No voices telling me to “reign it in” or “suck it in” or just generally contort myself into appeasing and pleasing shapes that were actually really uncomfortable.
Back then it was just me and you and life.
Now, if you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know that I bring up being a kid a lot.
It’s not because childhood was necessarily easy, or that I think we should all still be running around like little undomesticated hooligans. (Though that sounds really fun.)
It’s because I believe that within our former selves lies the keys to who we still are deep down.
Back before the world told us to reign it in.
Before “he” told me not to be so loud or “she” told you to change the way you dress if you wanna fit in.
Before societal standards and the “in crowd” and beauty magazines or reputations.
We were never handed a memo that said “hey, from this day hence forth, you’ll be a muted version of yourself – time to officially wind it down.”
Nah, it happened slowly.
“I did not lose myself all at once. I rubbed out my face over the years washing away my pain, the same way carvings on stone are worn down by water.” (Amy Tan)
And these new murky rivers of thoughts and beliefs and “who I am” became so familiar, so cemented, that we forgot about the wild and crazy beautiful streams that ran beneath them all of those years ago.
The belly laughs. The earnest hope. The magic of the trees we climbed and the dreams we dreamed.
Life before “the committee.”
Life before we made ourselves palatable for the masses.
“Collective madness is called sanity.”
Slowly but surely the world poured concrete on those innocent and magical streams of consciousness we were born with, and before we knew it WE were the ones pouring the next layer, like “I’ll take it from here, I’ll keep myself small, its safe here and sturdy and predictable.”
“You’re only given one little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”
(Robin Williams)
I’ve had this magnet on my fridge for the last five years or so.
Robin Williams has always been kind of a beacon to me – his zaniness, his energy, his unapologetic presence and overwhelming intensity.
I know it might be weird to turn to a man that committed suicide for inspiration, but he’s so much more than that.
Our boy Robin had a light that burned so brightly that it still shines on us years later. If I need to feel braver or lighten up a terribly serious philosophical mood, I’ll just look up one of his comedy routines and watch.
I mean, he was WEIRD you guys.
We’re talking crazy energy and voices and jumping on top of unsuspecting people and bringing so much WHOA and intensity I feel like he might come through the screen and rip my phone outta my hands years later.
You KNOW he had to get laughed at as he made his way through the world – before he was making people laugh on purpose. You KNOW that somebody probably tried to protect him at some point, pulling on his sleeve and whispering that if he could just calm down he’d have a much easier way through the world.
Regardless of how it ended, his life was an example of straight up bravery, presence, and ruthless flying of his freak flag.
His was a spark of magic that we can all learn from.
Now, I’m not saying that underneath all of our domestication and adulting lies a latent Robin Williams. (Although I’m also not NOT saying that.)
What I’m urging you to do is ask…who are you when you fly your freak flag? Who were you as a kid on the playground, before the committee, before someone tugged at your sleeve and urged you to calm down for your own sake, started cementing over those streams of magic and wonder and sparks?
Who were you then?
Who ARE you now?
Where is your spark of madness?
You mustn’t lose it.
Xo,
Melissa