The Bandwagon that served many purposes

For weeks and months leading up to Super Bowl XLVIII, she declared herself a bandwagon Seahawks fan.  And owned it.  This proud 12th Man flew the Seahawks flags on her Soobie Outback.  Her Mojo Toes had a fresh coat of OPI blue nail polish every ten days for three months, with a "12" written on each thumb and big toe. For days, she never bothered riding on someone else's bandwagon.  She owns her own wagon.  She is her own wagon.  

Her friends are gracious people.  Some are perplexed. A few are stunned.  Most just play along, thinking it's the best thing since sliced bread that she let her hair down a bit and have a grand 'ol time.  Women joined her insanity and painted their fingernails and toenails Seahawks blue and green with "12" written all over. Wives of coworkers; daughters of acquaintances. Checkers at the grocery stands.  If you want to start a movement, go grassroot… 

I am that Bandwagon.  

My bandwagon makes me remember - and thirsty - for the stuff I did, not that long ago.  I want to be able to intelligently discuss a Tchaikovsky composition and just as comfortably, rock out at a rock concert.  I want to play Chopin, write Haiku, shoot my arrows and fire my guns.  I want to climb; I want to golf; I want to ski; I want to fly kites.  I want to lie on the warm sand like a beach whale, and hang-glide off the cliff.  I want to go to the opera house looking drop-dead gorgeous in my heels, and road-tripping in my van without showering for three days.  I want to eat caviar, drink champagne from a flute, and skin a fresh turkey with my bare hands.  I want to whisper ever so seductively in somebody's ears, and swear my head off at a bunch of 300# men dog-piling each other wearing colorful tights.  My bandwagon poignantly reminds me - I have only one life to live. Waiting for anyone - anyone's - approvals or endorsements is a luxury I can never afford.  My Bandwagon has served its purpose of letting me see ever so clearly.  

NFL Second Round Playoff
Seahawks 23-15 Saints
January 11, 2014

My bandwagon is also my best distraction of all distractions.  If you have ever had a need for temporary distractions, you would understand.  Distractions are like oxycodones.  Narcotics.  Narcotics don't stop the pain; they merely take the edge off.  They provide temporary relief.  At some point, the relief stops and the edge returns.  In my case, the distraction worked for two full months and stops just after Super Bowl XLVIII on February 2.  My bandwagon has served its full purpose of diverting my attention from my loss to considering what I just might have gained.  

My bandwagon gave me a different perspective on people and relationships. 

My bandwagon also represented many personal things to me.  It served many purposes. It took on a life of its own.  My bandwagon gave me hearty belly laughs.  It made my friends cheer.  It made me feel wonderfully silly and remarkable.

I haven't had this much fun for a long, long time.  And I am very grateful for my courageous bandwagon.