Don't Come Back Until you're Bleeding

When I was a child, my mother used send me outside to play. We lived in the middle of a forest, by a lake, in a cabin - it was the sort of place most kids only dream about. Raw, wild, anything-goes, excitement.

"Go play, and don't come back until you're bleeding." - those are the words she used to tell me. :)

I remember why I bled, I remember the climbing up trees, the rope swings, the dare devil stunts, the bike races, the bonfires.. the skateboards, the rafts, the dirt bikes.. the pleasure of being 9 years old, and bleeding; an honor - earning your way back into the house. Scratches, cuts, scrapes, gashes, tears, punctures, rips. Wounds. Beautiful, gnarly, disgusting wounds.
When you bled as a kid, it was because you were out there, enjoying yourself, being dangerous.. playing by your own rules.
Getting hurt, wasn't something to cry about, it was expected. Honestly, I never went out looking to bleed, but somewhere between bows-and-arrows, and rock fight, it just seemed to always happen.

I think my mom would probably give me the same guidelines she did back then.. even today. "....Don't come back until you're bleeding." - I adore that concept. :) Possibly, most people believe that it is a success if you make it through your day, comfortable and well-preserved - is that what we are content with? Really? That is all we want from these days? Where is the lust and adventure and beauty? Where is the carpe-dium we all say we desire.. when we agree to adopt a hum-drum, la-la-la, pen and ink success story?

At the end of the day, I want to come back and have some wounds.. I want to have sparks in my eyes, and dirt in hair, a few cuts on my arms or heart, and a smile on my face. Life best lived.

I love you Mama.





(Andrew Tipton)