Ever since I read Blue Like Jazz I’ve been off my game. Sure, Donald Millar had some
- great stories,
- and riveting spiritual insight.
But, the title of the book makes me want to dial the Crayola police. I mean, blue? the color of Jazz?
Sorry, I’m getting carried away. It’s the “rules girl” part of my personality.
Don’t get me wrong.
Some rules are good. They keep us safe. Promote harmony. Encourage spiritual growth.
Other rules are toxic. The result of
- unbridled snobbery.
- Control freaks bent on destroying creativity.
- Elitists demanding a social cool that stifles the unique beauty of individuality.
Not what I wanted for me. Or, so I thought.
When I pulled into a shopping mall parking lot today, I saw a van with stuffed animals all over it.
It’s like the driver forgot to put on the brakes when he parked in front of ToysRus.
My first thoughts-
- How crazy.
- Ridiculous.
- Not cool.
And, that’s when it hit me. I was acting like the King of Cool. Legislating the placement of cheap toys on an ordinary car.
Then, I remembered that there was little chance that my preferences would ever become law.
That’s a good thing.
Part of the adventure of life is
- creating
- dreaming
- and expressing joy in weird and wonderful ways.
Who knows? If stuffed animals can ride around the top of mini vans, maybe the sound of Jazz really is the color blue.
