barbaric yawps and eating the rain


I don’t have to grow out of this, right?

The wind whipped my face and wetness brushed my cheeks. I breathed hard, pushing through the generous bowl of soup I had for lunch. I could feel my braid stick to my neck under my stocking hat. My feet pounded the pavement, but my eyes drifted toward the sky.

Have you ever seen Dead Poets Society? It’s brilliant. It’s where I learned about the barbaric yawp.

And I suppose that is what started the guttural sound in mid-run today. It might have been what led me, with the train on my left and the university campus on my right, to then let out a “Yawp!”

I ran a few more steps and then tried it out again, but this time louder, “Yawwwwwp!”

I giggled and ran and then tried to eat the rain.

I don’t know if I’ll ever make sophisticated sense with my clothing style or my office banter, but I do know this: I don’t mind looking at the world like a child. I want to see wonder at the wind and delight in drops of rain. I want to stretch out my arms and “yawp!” because I am alive.

Every breath is precious.

I’m off to let
LOVE fly like cRaZy
at job #2


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