this week, while in tooth ache hell, I have been watching a load of films, which all had the theme of the elderly or ill road tripping to find the lost loves of their youth, usually against the better judgement of their close family, aided by the youngest, for “one last chance” at love and adventure.
what a delight they all were, exploring the nature of hope and adventure, corralling others to join in, the right to make personal choices and mistakes, bonding and belly laughs, adversity and opportunities, love in unexpected places, and with it pain.
The seemingly random theme had been triggered by an old friend recalling one such youthful trip of ours, where I too had been in search of a particular man, in a split screen camper van and a whole bunch of friends setting off into the night with vague clues and purpose.
Remembering from the here and now it was unusual, special and a bit wild, we friends christened ourselves with heroic nick names, took mind expanding drugs, headed out on our S/heroes quests, chasing the possibilities of life , decorated (fashion), sound tracked, ( bands and musicians) and passionately embraced (love affairs, betrayals, one night stands).
I burned some bridges and built some, I feel quite proud of myself, my memories, my own experiences, I can’t now walk more than a few steps; had a wheelchair delivered yesterday, how ever the richness of the minds eye still makes life a blissful, beautiful, magical quest. Laughing at all the things that happened, lots of crying over split milk, and as my isolation grows the reality of expressing my own personal freedom reveals its true colours, no not the shame of chasing a man I met tripping at a festival, but the ancient themes, the archetypal call to adventure,
and just like the films, of last chance loves, and disabled adventurers there is always one more quest, one more Last Go, on and on, so watch “Grandmas Wedding”, and be glad that life doesn’t give up and all we really have to do is attend. Whatever we think at the time.