yes, please.

Occasionally, I like to make sweeping declarations and see how far down the rabbit hole they take me.

As mentioned in the previous post, I don’t drive. Before I began exploring the wonderful world of possible bike-versus-car road accidents, I mostly took the bus. This means I spend a lot of time at bus stops, reading the urban literary content available on hand-engraved benches, discarded cigarette packages and lamppost flyers. A flyer I saw a few weeks ago was an advertisement for a man who promised that he could lead me to spiritual enlightenment in just seven easy sessions. It made me think of Yes, Man, where Jim Carey starts pulling random flyers off cork boards and signing up for everything he sees because he’s committed to saying “Yes!” to anything and everything that comes his way.

Right then and there, I made a Sweeping Declaration to myself. I would spend this month, this Research Month, living my life with passion by saying YES to everything! EVERYTHING! Anything that came my way, I would say yes to! Immediately, and without question!

Except the aspiring spiritual guide on the flyer, because seven sessions at $250 each seemed steep. Bit more pocketbook-enlightenment than spiritual enlightenment. And his glasses were askew, which is a dead giveaway that he’s a crook. (Think it’s a coincidence that “askew” is a synonym for “crooked”? Please.)

I realized that I would need to set some conditions on this new approach to life. After all, Carey’s character soon discovered that saying “Yes!” to everything could get messy faster than a toddler’s diaper after a Friday night curry. I know firsthand what that looks like, and believe me when I say that it’s something to be avoided at all costs. So conditions, then. The thing that I am saying “YES!” to must:

1. Be affordably priced.

2. Be vegetarian (ie: no rib/hotdog/wing eating contests. There are carnivores in my group who might think it hilarious to exploit the “Yes!” For privacy, they shall not be named, only referred to by title: Older brother. Photos available upon request.)

3.  Be unrelated to pharmaceutical experimentation. No hallucinations, seizures or anal leakage for this girl, thankyouverymuch.

Armed with my new mission, I boarded the bus and waited for the universe to throw something my way. A week later,  The Boyfriend pulled my bike out of the closet. I sat there, looking at it, and a little voice in my head (with an inexplicably charming Irish accent) piped up: Wanna go for a ride? and I said “YES!”. Because I’m a sucker for an Irish accent.

Then I spent half an hour hyperventilating, because I had never been out riding on my own before. Then I spent another ten minutes fiddling with my helmet. It’s important for it to fit perfectly, after all. An imperfect fit could result in serious brain damage. I can’t afford to lose any more of my brain function than I already have. (But that’s a story for another time.)

Then I took the bike off the rack and sat on it in my apartment. Tested the brakes. Tested the kickstand. Rang the bell.

And then, immediately and without question, I got outside and rode my bike. It was awesome. Saying “YES!” felt f*#!ing badass. I couldn’t wait to do it again.

So when my cousin texted me on Friday night asking whether I wanted to do the Vancouver Sun Run on Sunday, I said “YES!!!!”. I hadn’t trained for it, had never run 10km before (I generally prefer to saunter than run) and was concerned that the “friend” she was running with might be the super-fit German personal trainer I had met at her BBQ the weekend before… but all of my conditions had been met, so I went for it anyway.

Result?

I ran (jogged) a 10k for the first time in my life. Like a boss. “Yes!” is officially my favorite new thing to say. Note to self: stay away from cult leaders/drug dealers/timeshare representatives.