I'm washing one of the last pans from a dinner of fish tacos--thought out, shopped for and grilled by my friend. She comes to the sink, whispers like a siren and says, "It's time to paddle." She is insistent as I try to resist in the middle of my very important work, and because I'm wearing a dress.
She doesn't give up, and I quickly cave because there's no place I'd rather be--on a board, on the lake, at sunset, and surrounded by friends at a come-as-you-are party.
Our walk to the shore is urgent, like hurrying to seats just as the movie starts. We will be part of a great picture show.
I can't let go of the idea that I'm paddle boarding in a dress--until I'm on the water.
"I can cross this off my bucket list now," I say, and laugh at myself. I let it go, because what's the worst case of paddling in a dress? You fall off and get wet. Take off the dress and hang it up to dry when you reach the shore.
And the paddle is glorious. Warmth, smiling friends, movement. Geese in their quiet place at the side of the lake. The mystical silhouettes of my friends on the water. The pure joy of a batter of water, strength and friendship.
We pass her friends in a boat. They ask who the paddle boarders are. "Oh, you're curious about the woman paddling in a dress." They laugh, we laugh, there's no reason to explain. It's funny and nothing more.
I want my life to be funny. Funny with humor, or called funny because it's strange, coincidental and laced with surprise--all in the best way possible.
And just because life throws curveballs, we more often than not, would be better off to laugh, than to take upon us an insult or offense, or to cower in the corner declaring "Unjust and unfair!"
Besides, life is better on a paddle board in a dress.
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