Sloppy Seconds

I heard an interview on NPR recently with David Muse, director of a production of Romeo and Juliet currently being staged in Washington DC by the Shakespeare Theatre Company. In spite of the fact that in his own day, Shakespeare staged ALL his plays with all-male casts, the interviewer wondered if Muse was worried that audiences would be squeamish about the modern version, especially about the leading actors’ on-stage kisses. I LOVED Muse’s answer. He said he believed audiences would not get hung up on the actors but would “give in to the conceit” of the play, the story, which he said is really about discovery and “firsts”—first love, first betrayal, first difficult decisions, etc.—and not simply about love, and it's that sense of discovery that makes the story timeless. Boy howdy, that set my mind a’reelin’, as Sarah Palin might say.

I started thinking that maybe aging is less about time, about chronology or physical deterioration—although the bags under my eyes beg to differ—and more about whether or not we’re still experiencing “firsts.” What makes whipper-snappers so full of life, perhaps, isn’t their biological age; it’s the newness of things. In our “golden” years (which I hope refers to joy & wisdom rather than the sallow color of my skin after a looooong week), we tend to settle in for the long haul, making the haul feel a whole lot longer out of sheer boredom & fatigue.

And, if you think back to your whipper-snapper days, you’ll realize those firsts didn’t come knocking while you sat in the LazyBoy eating Cheetos and watching Boston Legal reruns. You went AFTER them. You went to New Mexico with an itinerate musician, in a 1950 Chevy pickup with no heater. Or you rode Greyhound buses for two weeks, from the Midwest to Canada, touring by day cities you’d never seen before, and sleeping across two rock-hard bus seats by night. Or you joined a band even though you only knew three chords. Or you wore all black, spray-painted yourself with silver glitter, and went to a Halloween party as “The Universe.” Or you and your two toddlers lived in an old school bus in a state park for a while. Or you fell madly, instantly in love with a non-dating, divorced father. The point is, when you stop going after those new experiences, those “firsts,” maybe you just stop.

I’m not willing to have only sloppy seconds from now on. So I’m applying for a Bush Fellowship, and if I get it, I’m going to a poetry & religion conference in Lancashire England. I’ve never traveled by myself. I’ve never crossed the Big Water. And in spite of my mother’s scolding & Ray’s scoffing, maybe I’ll get a tattoo before I go...maybe a teeny, tiny, little peacock feather…