We are superheroes

I learned how to use a whip today. This may be the only time in my life I get to write that sentence.  I also want to say, if you EVER get the chance to do so, take whip-cracking lessons.  I mean it.  It’s been a long, long time since i had this much fun.

I’m in a play called Waiting For Godot, and I play a guy, Pozzo, who cracks a mean whip.

It’s not as easy as it looks.  So we arranged lessons.

Luckily, I hadn’t given it any thought, so I hadn’t accumulated any reservations about it.

The whip guy was excellent. He teaches weaponry and stage antics (there is probably a more technical word than “antics”, but I don’t know it) full-time as a career. This, by itself, comes as a shock to me. When I was growing up, no one ever said, would you like to be a whip-cracking teacher? Would you like to teach people to fall down stairs without hurting themselves?  Does that sound like fun?

Well it’s fun on the learning end.

I can’t take you through the steps. Don’t even ask. I’d have to kill you if you tried it at home.

In about two hours I progressed from a kind of “thwit” sound followed by the whip wrapping circles around my ankles, to a stronger “thwack” which hit my bum and legs as often as not, to an incredibly satisfying, full crack which apparently is the end of the whip creating a sonic boom.

I learned to circle it over my head like a lasso before the crack, and then to do an impossible-to-describe move used by Michelle Pfeiffer in Cat Woman.

My face was ready to crack from smiling by the end.

Later, i thought, what is it?  Why so much happiness? I didn’t win a Nobel Peace Prize or save any rainforest by doing it, but I do feel about forty years younger, now, than i felt this morning.

Maybe that’s the point.  Forty years younger makes me eight years old.  There’s something fantastically healthy about being eight years old in a 48-year-old body, in a 48-year-old mind.  For an hour, i was eight, i was Cat Woman, i was Indiana Jones, i was Zorro.  I was The Force.

I played with all my might at something that doesn’t earn a paycheque, doesn’t take better care of my kids, and doesn’t address the meaning of my life.  Maybe.

I think that’s great health care.  What do you think?  What would do this for you?

I’d love to hear.

Thanks for the conversation.


This entry was posted in blog and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *