December 3, 2018

There’s a crossing guard I get to observe every day while I wait at what always seems like an extra-long light. While crossing guards stand out anyway, by virtue of their brimmed hats and neon green safety-wear, this particular guard grabs my attention for an additional reason: She actually does sets of isometric exercises while manning her post.

There are never children crossing during my allotted time with her. But rather than merely standing there, like a sentinel, this woman chooses to get in some exercise. That motorists by the dozens can see her seems to faze her not in the least.

She’s anything but graceful as she stands on one leg and makes circles with the opposing foot, slowly, deliberately mouthing the number of revolutions. Next, she ambles, toes out, twenty steps forward, twenty steps back (I’ve counted these, myself) then does a like number forward and backward toeing in. Finally, before my light changes to green, she extends both arms out in front of herself, hands balled into fists, and windmills each separately, with gusto, ten times.

She fascinates everyone in our queue; I see them all watching her. Yet she is not seeing us. She is engrossed in her workout and cares not one iota what she looks like, who’s watching, or what we must be thinking.

It would be easy to dismiss such a level of insouciance with either (a) She’s old and doesn’t care about things like that anymore or (b) She’s deranged. But I think there’s way more to it. I know plenty of older people who would no more exercise on a street corner while in a crossing guard uniform than they would throw a child into oncoming traffic.

I believe that this is about being uninhibited.

Children seem to come out of the womb possessing this wonderful trait. Then, about the time they start linking words together and coordinating stripes and plaids with tulle from the Dress-Up Box, their various choices begin being frowned upon. Some acquiesce at once. Others rebel awhile but relent eventually to What’s Expected. It is only the rare few who have the gumption and fortitude to buck tradition and go for the freedom of perpetual and unapologetic personal expression.

This elite group is watched with rapt fascination, like laboratory rats who’ve been given a limitless supply of food and space. What will they do next? Where will they go? When will they eat? And how much? Will they travel all around constantly or gravitate to one small area? Why? How will their choices affect them down the road?

Conjecture abounds about them. Discussions ensue. Conclusions are drawn.

Meanwhile, my own conclusion is this: The Uninhibited carry on, deliciously unabated. They choose Actual Play over play-by-play and are rewarded every day with the joy that comes from unlimited freedom.