According to my favorite Asian Gnome, you can tell a lot about a person just by observing how a person interacts with a puddle. Does she jump into it, splashing her fellow passerbys, or, does she hesitate and find the narrow path around the whirl of water in an effort to remain completely dry?
I, myself, identify with the latter– even when I am adorned in full rain gear. From this the Asian Gnome concludes I am “cautious and meticulous in my tasks.” In contrast, said Gnome, regardless of footgear, jumps feet first into the puddle. She is a risk-taker, embracing the spontaneity of the present and the possibilities of the future.
Given our disparate approaches to puddles, we each enjoy life to varying degrees. As you might imagine, I enjoy it less– invoking my neurosis more frequently than I should. In recognizing this shortcoming, I determined a few weeks ago to remedy the situation.
Trading my Miami Vice obsession for my current television compulsion, The Wire, I began to loosen my guard. I let myself fall for an individual who logically I should have completely disregarded (and perhaps informed law enforcement of).
However, in embracing my new found spontaneity, I determined that crushing on a fictional Baltimore drug dealer of a different race was perfectly acceptable. Yes, I gave my heart to Stringer Bell, one of the protagonists in HBO series The Wire.
Though he acquired his fame and fortune through overtly illegal means, I still found something so incredibly attractive about him– likely his ambition. He wasn’t willing to settle for anything less than owning all of Baltimore. And he had the drive to pursue this ambition, regardless of financial or emotional cost.
But then the unthinkable happened: Bell was murdered by a shot gun-wielding assassin and his New York counterpart. And suddenly my walk on the water side came to an abrupt and dry halt.
Disturbed, confused, and convinced that I would never be able to embrace a life of puddle splashing again I turned to the Beloved Roommate for comfort. Her solution– images of Don Draper, a philandering Madison Ave advertising man.
And while I stared at images of Draper’s glorious hair, I realized that I was not, in fact, incapable of taking risks. Instead, I had to modify my mode of thinking. Jumping into puddles isn’t just about the momentary thrill; it comes with the knowledge that after the jump there is an inevitable water-filled aftermath.
Ultimately, we take the jump because, well, it’s better to have jumped and lost than never to have jumped at all.