I love hypothetical situations: they allow me to proclaim with confidence what I’d do in a given situation when in reality, I haven’t a clue.
Take parenting. Before I had kids, I was an expert on motherhood. As a hypothetical parent, I’d observe and critique, vowing that I’d never plop my kids in front of a TV for the length of time it’d take a moderately fit person to run a marathon.
The company, Mabel’s Labels, has a contest asking one of these fascinating hypothetical questions: what would you post on your blog if the internet was experiencing an epic fail, possibly permanently? It’s like famous-last-words for those obsessed with blogging.
Here, then, are my final words which, for once, are not ironic.
Walk barefoot in dewey grass.
Dance like you own your whole body.
Make snow angels.
Deliver cookies to a neighbour.
Stay for a cup of tea.
Lie in a sunbeam.
Picnic in your backyard.
Follow a leaf blowing in the wind.
It’s a bit of a poet’s shopping list for the Carpe Diem Supermarket. But in all seriousness, these are the things I love more than blogging, more than teaching, more than writing. These are the games of children, and if I can settle myself in the moment, which ironically is what blogging does for me, then time ceases to matter.
Perhaps parenting, hypothetical or not, is more about adults becoming childlike than children growing into adults.
Now excuse me, while I go unplug.