Tag: whimming

Love, stuff, and other things of a whimsical nature.

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

There isn’t a lot of things that surprise me. Furthermore, I rarely surprise myself. However, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve surprised myself a hell of a lot more often in the past few months than I ever have in the past.

I’ve always found myself adamantly studying human behavior and the reasons behind their actions. In the same way, I also study myself and once

...your best friend?
...your best friend?

in a while, I am astounded by what I’ve done or how I’ve reacted.

I’ve already written a few articles on the changes that have occurred over the semester and the adventures that have been experienced. I have lightly touched on this subject, but I have not really elaborated enough. So I’ll ask: what drives a person to do things outside their nature? Nature being the operative, or rather meaning a person’s predictable personality.

It’s easy to agree that people have the ability to do things they normally wouldn’t do, when all reason and logic disappear and pure animalistic instincts take over. Being such a highly evolved species—that is, most of us—are able to control our “wild” instincts. But what is it that wills us to make a conscious decision to let that all go?

I used to be a virgin. I used to want to wait until marriage, to save it for the man I would spend the rest of my life with, your typical romantic ideal. I was a virgin up until I was 22. Not a bad record, I have to say. During that time, I was also in a serious relationship with another virgin, which made it less of a temptation to let loose on our physical desires. However, I had the urge to know whether or not I was sex-worthy to my boyfriend. I would ask once in a while if he ever wanted to make love to me. Ironically, he would get irritated and say “no, not right now.” I think he took me literally, whereas I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he would if he wanted to. After the sixth month of our relationship, his mind changed, a full turnaround. Suddenly, he was all for it. And I gave away myself to the one I thought was “true love.” At 22, I was super naïve. That boy was the only boy I had ever been with, even past our eventual terminated relationship.

Until now…

Now the count is two. Two at 24.

After my breakup, I wanted to try and wait again until marriage. I didn’t want to run amok and sleep with any guy that was willing, even though there were times the opportunity was extremely tempting. I wanted to keep the sex thing something special between me and someone else. Something meaningful. Worthwhile. Not just a physical exercise to get my jollies off. I want to do it for love. Is that so surprising?

So, while I was doing my best to revirginize myself, I developed a very close friendship with a boy. He became my best friend. He was amazing in every way, a Godsend, really. He and I were pretty much welded at the hip. He was 22 and also a virgin.

Our friendship was picked on by most people, behind our backs or to our faces. People at work pressured and gossiped. Close friends disapproved and also gossiped. Most didn’t believe we could be “just friends.” It was hard to a point. Emotionally hard. For my best friend had also fallen for me. I, however, couldn’t see him more than just a friend. Perhaps it was because that’s how I started out, looking at him as though he were a brother of mine.

But we were the opposite sex. And there were times where the attraction could become very hard to ignore. There were little moments where we did allow ourselves physical exploration, but it never led to much of anything else. Our code term was “stuff and other things.”

“I’m in the mood for doing stuff,” I’d say.

“And other things?” he’d respond. We’d laugh at our little inside joke.

But one fateful night, I gave in. I slept with my best friend. All logical reasoning flew out the door, all consideration for our friendship—gone. Just simple and pure, straightforward and relentless, human instinct. For a night, my reservations on sex vanished. I guess you could say my need was much stronger than I thought. There was no regret, which mildly surprises me. I used to regret it before.

Also, I find it ironic that I’ve only slept with virgins… Kinda makes me feel like I’m a thief of innocence.

Nonetheless, how can I explain myself? What was it that drove me to give in after all those months of being able to thwart off physical passion? How did I turn from a person who so believed strongly in waiting, to becoming who I am now? It cannot be explained off by simply saying “I changed my mind.” There’s more to it. Was it love that I felt for my best friend? Did I finally see past the idea that he was “just a friend?” Or was it loneliness? I’d have to say no on that one. There were a few other guys I could have been with out of loneliness, but chose not to. Was it simply out of passion? Again, I’d have to say no. I would have taken it out on guys a lot sooner, if that was the case.

Then it was love. It had to have been. I had already known how deeply I felt for him, that I wanted nothing but his happiness. I wanted nothing but for him to know what love was like. Robin Williams in Bicentennial Man states it perfectly:

 

“That you can lose yourself, everything, all boundaries, all time—the two bodies can become so mixed up that you don’t know who’s who or what’s what. And just when the sweet confusion is so intense you think you’re gonna DIE, you kind of do…leaving you alone in your separate body.

 

But the one you love is still there.

 

That’s a miracle. You can go to heaven and come back alive. You can go back anytime you want with the one you love.”

 

Was it really so wrong of us to do? I don’t think so.

So, even though I promised myself to wait—even though I believe making love is special and shouldn’t be wasted—even though I wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him—even though there are those who may think I’m a horrible person for giving in and sleeping with my best friend, accusing me of knowing better and putting all responsibilities on my shoulders—even though I did something outside of my own personal nature—I know that I am happy. Maybe because I knew he was happy. After all, showing love is giving love.

And…

…stuff and other things.

On Graduation

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment

 

Graduation is coming. And for the first time, I felt myself panic. Where am I going? Do I continue on with my Masters? Did I get the right degree? Will I have a career? These are the common questions that plague the student’s mind right before graduation. These questions are not the reason why I am panicking. Sure I have ruminated over and over about what decisions I need to make in order to have a successful career and that after graduation I will be making some of the most important decisions of my life—and I hate making decisions—but oddly enough I am not bothered by this. I am the type of person that is comfortable with the idea of “whatever happens, happens,” that things will fall in to their right places. This is not the source of my stress. To put it bluntly, I am afraid of losing my closest friends. Whether you are graduating this year, or you know someone who is graduating, it is safe to assume that a lot of things change afterwards, including the people you love moving far away. Facebook is pretty good at helping keeping friendships alive and, if you’re consistent at it, usually phone calls can keep people close as well. You can keep it up for about a year and maybe longer, but in most cases, the friendships fade and you make new ones. This is an on-going cycle. However, this time around, I panicked! I didn’t want to follow the “cycle.”
When I was in high school, I believed that my best friends and I would stay very close. I am an incredibly stubborn person, so you can imagine how adamant I am with my faith. During my senior year, I finally made a small but very close-knit group of friends. I remember that we used to wonder why we were never close before until our last year of school. We graduated and some of us moved away. We stayed close for about a little over a year and then, just like the cycle, we faded away.
The same thing has happened now. This is my senior year in college and I have become extremely close with only a select few. Three of us are all moving out of state, myself included. We used to tease the idea of moving to the same state together, thinking of how much fun that could be, knowing that some of us couldn’t be without each other. And all the while, I keep thinking how familiar this all seems. I hear Rachel say, “I don’t think you and I will ever not be friends…we’ll grow old together.” Smiling at her, I try to be positive, but I am not. I am cynical. I’ve heard it before. And so, I panicked. Because this time I really, really didn’t want the same thing to happen—where people move away and move on. 
So what? So this semester, despite my incredibly busy schedule, I had filled up all my free time, and even not-so free time, to spend with my closest friends, to fill my memory with them and all the happiest moments they bring to life. Because who knows when it’ll be this good again. I realize how dramatic this sounds—believe me, Drama is my middle name—but frankly I can’t help it; it’s in my genes—and the inspirational music in the background is also helping. I have whimmed with the best of friends and plan on continuing to do so until we part our ways. I guess you can say they have been the reason behind my whimming—and the virus commonly known as senioritis has also added to it. So I will hope and enjoy every minute we’re together. I have plenty more whims up my sleeve saved up for summer. And, just like the summer after my high school graduation, this summer will be logged into my memory as one of the greatest! Then August will come…and this chapter will close, but another will open. Things will fall in their right places. Remember to appreciate those closest to you. Work hard, but harder for those you love. Oh yeah, and have fun!
And continue to whim where no whimmer has gone before…

 

Graduation is coming. And for the first time, I felt myself panic. Where am I going? Do I continue on with my Masters? Did I get the right degree? Will I have a career? These are the common questions that plague the student’s mind right before graduation. These questions are not the reason why I am panicking. Sure I have ruminated over and over about what decisions I need to make in order to have a successful career and that after graduation I will be making some of the most important decisions of my life—and I hate making decisions—but oddly enough I am not bothered by this. I am the type of person that is comfortable with the idea of “whatever happens, happens,” that things will fall in to their right places. This is not the source of my stress. To put it bluntly, I am afraid of losing my closest friends. Whether you are graduating this year, or you know

Waiting in the blistering heat to get inside the Stadium.
Waiting in the blistering heat to get inside the Stadium.

 someone who is graduating, it is safe to assume that a lot of things change afterwards, including the people you love moving far away. Facebook is pretty good at helping keeping friendships alive and, if you’re consistent at it, usually phone calls can keep people close as well. You can keep it up for about a year and maybe longer, but in most cases, the friendships fade and you make new ones. This is an on-going cycle. However, this time around, I panicked! I didn’t want to follow the “cycle.”

 

When I was in high school, I believed that my best friends and I would stay very close. I am an incredibly stubborn person, so you can imagine how adamant I am with my faith. During my senior year, I finally made a small but very close-knit group of friends. I remember that we used to wonder why we were never close before until our last year of school. We graduated and some of us moved away. We stayed close for about a little over a year and then, just like the cycle, we faded away.

The same thing has happened now. This is my senior year in college and I have become extremely close with only a select few. Three of us are all moving out of state, myself included. We used to tease the idea of moving to the same state together, thinking of how much fun that could be, knowing that some of us couldn’t be without each other. And all the while, I keep thinking how familiar this all seems. I hear Rachel say, “I don’t think you and I will ever not be friends…we’ll grow old together.” Smiling at her, I try to be positive, but I am not. I am cynical. I’ve heard it before. And so, I panicked. Because this time I really, really didn’t want the same thing to happen—where people move away and move on. 

So what? So this semester, despite my incredibly busy schedule, I had filled up all my free time, and even not-so free time, to spend with my closest friends, to fill my memory with them and all the happiest moments they bring to life. Because who knows when it’ll be this good again. I realize how dramatic this sounds—believe me, Drama is my middle name—but frankly I can’t help it; it’s in my genes—and the inspirational music in the background is also helping. I have whimmed with the best of friends and plan on continuing to do so until we part our ways. I guess you can say they have been the reason behind my whimming—and the virus commonly known as senioritis has also added to it. So I will hope and enjoy every minute we’re together. I have plenty more whims up my sleeve saved up for summer. And, just like the summer after my high school graduation, this summer will be logged into my memory as one of the greatest! Then August will come…and this chapter will close, but another will open. Things will fall in their right places. Remember to appreciate those closest to you. Work hard, but harder for those you love. Oh yeah, and have fun!

And continue to whim where no whimmer has gone before…

 

Rachel and I on the lawn of Sun Devil's Stadium
Rachel and I on the lawn of Sun Devil's Stadium

A Whim in the Sea

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

We still haven't slept yet.
We still haven't slept yet.

 

 

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.
It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 
No problem.
But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.
“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.
The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.
It was closed.
Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.
That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.
Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.
That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 
As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.

It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 

No problem.

But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.

“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.

The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.

It was closed.

Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.

That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.

Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.

That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 

As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

Xanna D Says: “Wake Up! And Whim With Me.”

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 
The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 
Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!
My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.
And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 
We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 

The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 

Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!

My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.

A-capellaly singing
A-capellaly singing

 

And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 

We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.