The older I get the fewer fucks I give.
I know I will be whatever old man I end up being, but part of me hopes I’ll be an eccentric. Another part of me thinks I’ll just be a bit grumpy, and yet another part of me hopes I’ll expand my tendency towards silliness. This may mean that the little moments of madness that pepper my day, which currently stay in my head or the confines of my home, will be let loose on the poor unsuspecting people of Glasgow.
I do like being silly.
Two lions are walking down Oxford Street, one turns to the other and says “Quiet, isn’t it”.
The tendency to break into song about random kitchen utensils – OHHHH WOAAHH WOAAHHHH SWEET SPATULA OF MINE! – or frequent attempts to dance my way round the living room as I tidy up which invariably end up with me poised, one foot on the edge of the sofa, almost ready to step it over a la Singing in the Rain, these are things which I should keep to myself.
Admittedly these examples are very home specific, but as I walk around the streets on my way to yet another sparkling social event (aka meeting people in the pub for drinks) I usually have headphones on and some form of musical accompaniment and, let’s be honest, who hasn’t stumbled across the perfect soundtrack moment from the movie of your life.
I’ve been an undercover spy walking along Sauciehall Street, a wistful romantic lead strolling the banks of the Clyde, the side-kick in an old time musical sashaying my way along Mitchell Lane (and fighting the urge to throw in a few spins as I go).
Ohhh that I could tap dance.
Perhaps a top hat and cane will be part of my ensemble when I’m an elderly eccentric curmudgeon (ohhh I love that word, curmudgeon, life goal right there!).
I phoned the local gym and I asked if they could teach me how to do the splits. He said, “How flexible are you?” I said, “I can’t make Tuesdays.”
Of course, I’ve no idea what kind of old man I’ll be but I don’t think it’ll be that different from the man I am today, hopefully a little wiser and thinner, but I’ve been prone to bouts of silly for many years now and there is no sign of them abating. Instead I will embrace the second half of my life and, as Doris once sang, what will be will be.
It’s a funny thing, being silly for the sake of it. It’s not an attention thing, it’s an outlet, a way to find a balance, or at least it is for me. Life can be so serious!
I visited the offices of the RSPCA today. It’s tiny, you couldn’t swing a cat in there.
I’ll admit silly used to be something I used as way to cope, a way to fit in, and whilst I’ve been lucky enough to find my tribe – a wonderful cross-section of people who, if nothing else, tolerate my frequent sojourns into the land of nonsense – not everyone I interact with gets it. Which is fine, not everyone needs to, right?
Life is too short, there are too few moments to hold on to, but I’m increasingly finding that letting go of things I once thought important are letting me hold on to more of things I value. I’ve not come to this realisation alone, and by lucifers beard it’s been a long time coming (fnar), but it feels good not to always be worrying. That’s the real lesson I’ve learned, for every ying there is a yang, for every worry there is a silly.
Someone walked up to my desk the other day and asked “Can I have a quick word?”, “Sure” I said, “Velocity”.
So, why all the amazingly funny jokes peppering this post, you ask? Well, why the hell not, says I! Then I honk my clown nose, and pedal off down the street on my unicycle (and try and avoid those pesky lions).
Note: This isn’t the first time I’ve written about “Silly”, ohhh how times have(n’t massively if I’m being honest) changed:
Also published on Medium.