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Breaking the mold
Breaking the mold
Realizing that it's okay to break the rules
There is nothing deep or remotely intellectual about my love of mud. To me it is freedom, plowing through puddles, the spray majestically shooting eight feet straight up, soaking me from all sides. I laugh in pure unadulterated delight as muck oozes down the visor of my helmet, once a glowing shade of yellow, now the dingy shade of a long since plucked dandelion. At least this is what I tell myself, most likely because I fear the recognition of the deeper meaning. The mantra that followed my footsteps out the door every time I bolted to the backyard to play. However, if I'm going to be completely honest it is more likely my attempt to escape the confines of who I am.
The desire to be interesting and unpredictable, because the good girl, the loyal girl, the rule abiding girl, the practical girl, the trusting girl, the giving girl.. She was unfortunately the boring girl and grew to be the same woman. One who plays by the rules, is loyal to a fault, supportive, loving and most of all forgiving. How boring this woman seems to be when compared to the splendor of a deep muddy puddle singing a sirens song, calling me to fly through full speed ahead, daring me to break the rules, taunting me to get dirty, consequences be damned. Certainly no one expected me to like the shiny new Commander my husband proudly brought home one day without warning in the form of a prior discussion.
I'll admit I was annoyed that so much money had been spent once again on yet another thing my husband and I wouldn't have in common. In fact, it took him over a month and a lot of cajoling to convince me to go for a ride. However, from the moment we went hurtling down the Rocky Mountain path I was hooked and from the second he let me behind the wheel in full control of that steely beast,
I was addicted! The wind rushing across my face, the machine rumbling beneath my feet, the pure unadulterated fear of flipping over, combined with the promise of a murky cavern waiting to be plundered was the ultimate adrenaline high. In that moment I realized that being good was not all it was cracked up to be and let go of all the deep seated resentment that I had to be good because my brother wasn't. Don't get dirty? Why not, what was the harm in a little unclean fun. So maybe in hindsight my great rebellion wasn't really so great, but the look on the faces of my friends and family as they viewed the videos of me screaming down the path head first into a mucky mess definitely was.