This happy little birthday girl is jumping for joy right off the grid this weekend. Gonna plant a tent in line with the curving Big Sur shore and wake up to the sound of ninjas in raccoon suits diving back into bushes unscathed.
I may read. I may write. I may quickly come to realize that I only know three words of Kumbaya and have a rudimentary understanding of how fire works.
No matter how the next 72 hours are spent, I know they will exist in a perfection all their own because I am now, more than ever, unattached to outcome. A lesson I learned twice-over tonight.
Exhibit A: My one and only job for the weekend was to hunt, gather, create, buy, or bargain for our breakfasts. I, of challenge-oriented mind, decide to try my rusty baker’s hand at a gluten free, sugar free morning glory muffin recipe thinking it would taste like Egyptian cotton feels.
And I’m sure it could have, had I not burned it. When I pulled those brown little muffin tops out of the oven, I had no choice but to laugh that neurotic Jack Nicholson laugh, which luckily bled into a half pathetic half genuine laugh. And when laugh 2.0 ended, I realized that, unlike what I had previously envisioned, my tentmate and I would never fawn over the mouthfuls of organic heaven I spent an evening preparing. And that was damn fine by me.
Exhibit B: I’ve been listening to this song non stop, and would have never in an eon and a half guessed that this voice comes from that woman. Or that her official video would dance around the storyline like it does.
It all just goes to show that to get along in this world is to be adaptable. Open to whatever comes our way or burns in our ovens. If everything happened as planned–outcomes met as expected–life would be one giant snoozefest swimming in a bowl of reduced sugar vanilla ice cream. Nope. Not my style. Camping on the other hand. Camping is my style. See you lovelies laters on the menjay.