Fly Your Freak-Flag High

There’s no denying it. The past four months have changed us.

Knowing what we’re all dealing with in some form or another, wouldn’t you think everyone would be a little kinder? A bit more compassionate? Patient? Longsuffering?

What I see isn’t quite like that.

The proverbial rubber, it seems, has hit the road. There’s a don’t-mess-with-me attitude weaving its tentacles into every area of life: friendships, partnerships, work, driving, waiting in line. It’s as though our BS meter is set on high: If you’re not going to level with me, don’t waste my time.

Irritation prickles on the skin – I feel it the instant I wake up – like a racehorse harnessed to a plow.

I’ve been doing things every morning to convince the horse that the plow is a good thing, that plodding instead of galloping makes time for a rich inner life. But in spite of that, too often I say Screw the plow! and mad-dash through the fields with that worthless piece of crap bouncing off every furrow behind me while I’m flying my freak-flag high.

And you know what?

It feels good. It feels good to shock myself, to think something I wouldn’t ordinarily think, say something I wouldn’t ordinarily say (like screw the plow), do things I didn’t do before (like cook), and stop doing things that once defined my life.

That’s the more difficult part to come to terms with – a loss of interest in what once occupied most of my waking hours. It’s like I went into the cocoon as a caterpillar but I haven’t yet emerged. I’m still marinating. The words of the woman who read my astrological chart in March of this year, haunt me. “Even if you thought you knew what was ahead for you, Sherry, you’d be wrong.”

That could apply to any of us and it’s probably the reason we feel a little strange in our own skin. It’s not knowing how to plan, not having a predictable future, not being certain that the virus won’t arrive in our homes on a lettuce leaf or under a fingernail, or wondering if maybe it already has. Things like that mess with the mind.

So here’s my challenge to you…

Fly your freak-flag high. Be the out-of-the-box wild-child you always wanted to be. Embrace whatever random ideas float through your mutinous mind and try them on for size. Trust me, they won’t all fit. But you get to choose.

Suddenly, in the middle of writing this post, I had to stop and actually make a Freak Flag. I don’t do crafts, right? That’s what I mean. Where do these compulsions come from? It took about five minutes to know exactly what I wanted.

Why don’t you make one, too, and let me know what yours says.

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