Your destiny is joy too. True story.
More and more I am coming out of the clown closet.
Last night I was generously invited to go see the Rolling Stones. Many lights were turned on (in my head and on the stage) and made me realize buckets of stuff. As in oodles. As in, wow, were my eyes even open prior to this show? Ok, now I’m exaggerating a tad. But as my ex would say, don’t ever let the truth get in the way of a good story.
First off: never ever would I have imagined myself going to see the Stones live in concert. Not only because they’re geriatrically old, but something in me makes me believe that I don’t deserve such a thing.
Don’t worry, I am re-programming the faulty wires of my thinking patterns.
So in the course of this evening, there was this couple sitting in front of me. And he insisted on getting up and dancing. Which normally is all fine and shit when you’re at a live show. Everybody else who was up and dancing were in a spot where they didn’t block the view from those who wanted to stay seated and enjoy the show.
I mean, it was the Stones after all. The average age of the audience was over 50. Maybe even 60 and up. So yeah… the need to get up and dance wasn’t a very prevalent one. And then throw in the fact that Petco park is steep. Really steep. Like one false move and the outcome is nasty. Many dancers? Not so much. And then there was the couple in front of me. I was torn between what bothered me more between the fact that I could no longer sit and enjoy watching Mick Jagger dance like Mick Jagger, or the fact that the dude in front of me had no rhythm. At all. He was oblivious of the music’s beats. He danced to the beat of his own broken down drum.
If I watched him, which was inevitable being that he hopped 1.2 feet in front of me, then I tended to naturally follow his beat. And that pissed me off, because his rhythm was erratic and had nothing to do with the live music. So I sashayed three seats down behind older folks who stayed glued to their chairs. Problem was the seats were FREEZING cold! So I had to warm a new seat.
Needless to say he sat back down, I reclaimed my seat next to my friends, he jumped back up, I debated over ignoring my rear neighbors and dancing (under the “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” approach) or sashaying back to the empty cold seat. I did dance and sit back down, and moved back and forth between seats. He kept looking behind at me and I hoped he would know what he was putting me through.
He appeared as oblivious of my struggle as he was about Mick’s rhythm. I did, however, finally decide to give in and dance my little puppy heart out.
1. I love to dance.
2. My destiny is joy.
I’m tempted to define what the true meaning of a clown is. But I’m not sure if I want to do that solely to justify what it is that I truly seek, or if it’s just to give you a better understanding. I hate that Americans have an aversion to clowns. They basically do not know what the essence of what a clown is. They don’t know shit. If they did, no aversion would there be.
And then, there’s how I just need to pursue my goals. My destiny — my life. And vice versa.
Just like last night. I needed to get up and dance. It was my given right to dance… we were after all at a live concert. And when will I ever get to see the Stones live in concert again?