When I was about seven years old, I went to Ballet class. Well actually, if we’re being honest, it was Jazz, but the eternal Ballerina in me likes to pretend it was Ballet, so let’s just go with that shall we? My brother was sent to come pick me up in my mother’s old, teal bomb of a car and instead of taking me home like I thought he would, he took me and the crappy car bush bashing at the BMX track just outside of town.
Suffice to say I was terrified and promptly told on him when we got home.
Really he probably shouldn’t have taken his baby sister out roughing it in mum’s car, but to be fair to him, I was a complete goodie-two-shoes…
And I have say that it’s stuck with me ever since.
I’m not particularly good at letting go, being free, being reckless. I don’t speed, I regularly wear sunscreen and I don’t get drunk…just sleepy. And look, I’m sure doing (or not doing) all these things is a good thing.
I’m an adult.
But sometimes I just want to let go. Have fun drifting around the BMX track, giggle wildly and not dob my brother in. How do you get to that point where you can just turn your brain off; allow the speedometer to sneak one, two, three km over the allowed limit; go a little crazy without, you know, going crazy? Is it a control thing? Am I just not able to prise away my white knuckled grip in fear of…what?
That I’ll get in trouble?
How do I turn that off? Please, send instructions.
All of this makes me sound really rather boring. And you know what, I probably really am. But I’m trying to let go, to be carefree without being careless, to be responsibly irresponsible.
I would love to go back and whisper in my seven year-old ear that my brother would keep me safe.
And that mum…
well she didn’t need to know.