Freedom. Our forefathers sailed across the great foamy sea seeking it with big wigs, puffy trousers and all the hope in the world. The American revolutionists saw it in the "whites of their eyes." Susan B. Anthony saw it for the voice of women. In the 60's, long-haired hippies in tie dye saw it as an escape from the iron fist, from all sobriety, and, well, from bras. Martin Luther King fought for it as a constitutional right for an oppressed people. Soldiers in the Middle East risk their lives to protect it. Freedom. It's a basic human right.
Naturally, that means we can rip our shirts off and run around half naked through the neighborhood.
It was October 18 and the occasion was my birthday. We try not to say the word "birthday" too many times because that implies that I did indeed did grow a year older. (And no, we don't mention the plethora of gray hairs protruding out of my bangs.) But don't worry. I am many years away from buying my first cat Fluffy and letting her put her cat dish on my table so I don't feel like I'm eating alone. In fact, I am far from it. This is my 24th year, and gosh darnit, I'm going to live it. Hit it Aretha:
Oh freedom (freedom), freedom (freedom), freedom, yeah freedom
Freedom (freedom), freedom (freedom), freedom, ooh freedom!!
My birth#*! had been relatively normal throughout the day. I was, after all, still 23 since I was born around 4 in the afternoon (shhhh...moment of silence at the strike of 4). I gave blood to help the bloodless, I worked, I went to class, I did homework. You know. Just a typical day in the life of someone who has no life (we'll save that for another day, though). Everything changed, however, when I left the library and stumbled upon two CRASEE girls in a white car blasting the classic "Just wanna stand there and watch me burn..." It was on repeat. When I got in my car, I was immediately handed a pink princess crown and asked if I was ready. Ha. I was born ready.
After a relatively calm dinner at Cafe Rio (there's always a calm before the storm), we went back to my apartment with "Dance, dance, dance, dance" still on repeat, and I was guided up the steps to my door and a darkened window. I wondered (please sense a twinge of sarcasm here), "What could possibly be about to happen?" I couldn't tell what my two crasee friends were planning with all their side glances and unfinished sentences. Shockingly enough, I opened up the door and was surprised to find half my FHE group in my living room with goofy grins on their faces. AND, some of my most favorite people in the world were scattered among those only there for the cake. I realized then just how amazing my friends are. We embraced. BFF's. Without going into too many details (since the point of this post is freedom, not funfetti) it was an amazing spectaular complete with a tie dye cake, peace, and love. "Don't you wish your friends were cool like mine? Don't ya? Don't ya?" After the last party patron trickled out our front door, not the least bit disastified with the rave they had just been privilaged to participate in, my crasee friends finally declared, "It's time."
When the European immigrants finally spotted the Statue of Liberty after a long and dreary journey across the Atlantic, they saw freedom, hope, and a better future. I put on two sports bras, my short shorts, pink striped socks, and saw my own bright and shiny (and breezy and balmy) future before me. Here's a question for the masses: Have you ever stripped down to your scevies and ran around like a banchi through a decently well lit residential area, where the porchlights acted as spotlights to the circus scene playing out before them? Oh, you haven't? Well, my young apprentice, my crasee friends would argue that you haven't lived, then. To live is to find freedom from the restrictive and oppressive nature of both clothing and the societal norms that imposes them upon us. To be free is to let everything hang out and jiggle and flap in the cool, night breeze. To be free is to realize that you have friends who endorse such radical behavior, and who instill in you a love and an appreciation for the liberal ways of life.
We formed a pretty good running team, the four of us, each with her own body type and not ashamed of anything (see Dove commercial). Liberation spread across our lips as we ran, not able to hold back the gleeful shrieks and deep breaths of relief (not unlike the feeling when you have to pee really bad, and you finally free your bladder from the hellish pressure -- pure relief). I felt like the BYU-Idaho student who transferred to Provo and could for the first time feel the crisp Mountain air through her toes because she was finally allowed to wear flip flops. Oh freedom.
I would like to dedicate this post to my most amazing and wonderful friends (the two of you who read this) and thank you for the examples that you are in my life. (Just don't tell my mom of your influencing ways, though........) But seriously, what's next?
Freedom is being 24 years old and loving every minute of it.
