And I would run away
I would run away, yeah…, yeah
I would run away
I would run away with you
Cause I am falling in love with you
No never I’m never gonna stop
Falling in love with you
The Corrs “Runaway”
I use music like a pyromaniac uses gasoline. It’s a mood accelerant. Sad? I can be sadder in a flash. Elated? Romantic? Hyper? There’s a tune for just about everything. Technological improvements, like the iPod I can’t quite master, caused me to misplace some of my favorite tunes. How appropriate it was that I found the loaded CD holder yesterday, the first of my 48 days of summer. I popped in Runaway and was swept back nearly 20 years, late at night after all four chicken pox ridden children had finally collapsed, my lover and I falling into each other’s arms in the dim light, and slow dancing around the kitchen. I don’t dance. But I did. And it felt so good that my mind captured it like the rare prize that it was, and beautifully stored it in sensurround.
Yesterday, we packed the youngest off to camp. (Judge me, hate me, be jealous–anything’s worth this freedom.) We are home, just the two of us. Every night. OMG! And I am noticing even more than usual, an illicitly delicious aspect of parenting– escaping from it. Can anyone without children possibly experience the sweetness, the delight, of having time off from them? For me, there is nothing like it. Sneaking around in high school paled in comparison. In my early years of parenting, a fifteen minute shower by myself, with no one screaming in the room, was a spa-like experience. An hour was a mini vacation. Going out to dinner without someone whose food needed cutting up felt decadent. Hidden kisses and comments, maintaining our secret world, has always been a sort of revenge for the sacrifices required of the job we love intensely.
For 47 more days and nights, opportunity will knock. And I intend to throw the door open with wild abandon. These are not moments to be wasted. I plan on running away from what have become the traps and the excuses of everyday life, most of which are habits that can be changed. We have made a pact to turn off the electronics every evening, to eat breakfast together in the morning, keep work where it belongs, enjoy what life offers—whether it be a walk on the beach or a weekend in the city, and to try new things. Last night we had dinner in a noisy bar and stayed out way too late at an outdoor concert (incredibly unlike us—or maybe not…) During this time, we plan to recalibrate so that going forward the goals are even higher. It’s an odd competition we have with ourselves. How much can we eek out of this relationship, how can we steal more time and joy than we’ve been allotted?
I first fell in love with this man when I was 17 (really). And I have done it again and again and again over the decades. Each time is headier and richer, because there is more depth, more history, more security. We have been tested enough that my confidence in him is steel. Fear is gone. Without resistance, I fall harder and deeper into the abyss and mystery of him.
From this intense relationship, I have learned countless advantages of age and experience, of knowing so very well how short, precious and sweet this ride is. Friends, children, work, travel, learning (and sometimes just breathing in the air on a hot summer day while doing absolutely nothing else) provide more opportunities than I could have imagined. Each year, each life change, offers more to run away from. And more to run towards. Sometimes we steal little moments, sometimes weeks, to run with wild abandon–holding hands, racing hearts, not quite playing by the rules.