So, the world will be my new pants

I had a thought tonight. Those jerks just come whenever they feel like it regardless of if I need to sleep or do anything else.

I was reading poemcrazy by Susan Goldsmith Woolridge. She talked about her son's use of metaphor when repotting a plant. He said, "the world will be its new pants," which is a phrase with such childlike accuracy.

Sometimes I think adults mess up language too much. We follow rules and organization, but when it comes to things that matter, like expressing the world around us, I find that a child's innocent bewilderment of the world's vastness is the best approach.

Anyway, I digress.

So, for the next 330 some odd days, I am like the plant. I left my cozy home in my home pot surrounded by friends and family who love me, and I transplanted myself into this new, big, scary place. The world is now my pants.  I need to be comfortable in them whether I am running around creating general havoc, climbing mountains, or curling up to take a Skype nap with my beloved.

I need to seek adventure in my new pants. They need to get dirty. The knees should begin to fray. They should be so threadbare that the vibrant memories patching them together keep my pants whole.

Every mountain I climb, every wave that I surf, every accidental octopus I eat becomes a part of my pants.  I sew each patch neatly into the folds.

I scrawl my friends' names upon my pants with sharpies that smell of shared experience and joy.

On that note, I took my pants hiking on Saturday. I loved being able to see city, mountain and ocean in one view. It is a constant reminder that there will always be something bigger than me. And, as much as I may be a know-it-all, I know so little. I pale in comparison of the trickling stream, barren mountain scape, and abyssal oceans. There are some fantastic things here, and I cannot wait for me and my pants to visit them.