FOLLOW ME!

I've spent more than half a century perfecting the Art of the Mistake.  Not to brag, but I have single-handedly redefined the concept of 'screwing up' in certain parts of Europe.  Outside one particularly complicated bank entryway in Toulouse, for example, and over a deli counter that for some insane reason sold fish-shaped cheese in Perpignan, my work is known as "L'Art de BooBoo Magnifique en Francaise."

Thanks to that old adage, "We learn from our mistakes," I can take comfort in being one of the smartest people on the planet.  But that realization dragged along with it great responsibility in the form of an urge to help others make fools of themselves less often.

How?

By teaching shortcuts to help avoid the mistake itself, as well as the pain that comes right after your bug-eyed friends scream, "Oh, man, we could NOT believe it when you..."  (Fill in the blank.  "...popped that clutch."  "...lost that ski."  "...married that guy.")

I am able to detect a mistake's approach from a mile away.  If ignored expertly enough, the little mistakes will get bored and wander off in search of a novice.  These mistakes include the 'tiny-ripple-effect-until-dinnertime' variety, such as joining in with my co-workers at lunch when the chorus of "Can you believe how fat our boss is?" begins.

But if a mistake is accompanied by one of its buddies from the Huge Problem family, I have learned to run the other way.  An example of this 'giant-ripple-effect-for-years' specimen would be the decision to quit my job after a margarita at that same lunch because, well, our boss just doesn't understand creative, sensitive types.

It has been a whole year since Sponge Brain Stretch Pants came to be, and six months since her last post.  I have spent five of those six months trying to figure out why I suspended my search for the perfect post-retirement hobby.  Some class notes still languish in cyberspace - I even skipped classes that I'd already registered and paid for.

What - no Raw Vegan Foods in my future?  Why not How to Be at Peace With Your Body, followed the very next day by Penny Pinching Pretty?  When did I decide I didn't need to Learn to Speak Hawai'ian, or master the art of The Rollicking Sea Chantey?

Could I tell beforehand that Dabbling With Finger Paints would not be a fulfilling post-career pastime?  That it would be a waste of time to Learn to Be a Librarian - or - Create a 48-Hour Film?  It seems freakishly obvious to me now that I really should have shown up for Strategic Thinking.  Then I might not have scheduled Kick Your Sugar Habit so close to Christmas.  (Um - the holiday where even the organic tofu is dipped in fudge?  That Christmas?)  The possibility of anything kicking my sugar habit was wrapped and stamped for the dog food factory before it even got out of the gate.

I think I've figured it out.

I believe I was mixed up about the right reasons for learning all those new things.  I made a brand new kind of mistake!

Those classes were not filled with young minds seeking Universal Truths.  Huh-uh!  They were populated with other post-half-centenarians, scrambling to find out what had happened during the precious hours we'd whittled away by talking about our supervisors at lunch.

Taking more classes would be like tossing partially inflated life rafts into an ocean of fully grown adults engaged in the same parallel play we practiced back in toddlerhood - outlining our lips with neon finger paints and singing only our favorite parts of the sea chantey (loud enough to drown out the 'stupid' singers).

Finding the perfect post-retirement hobby would only benefit me, and that is not how I plan to spend my next half-century.

No.

I want to pass on lessons learned by sifting through old mistakes instead of learning how to make a bunch of new ones.  I'm confident that I have at least a six-month supply of helpful hints for new mistake-makers.

So, then, that's it.  I shall pound pitons deep into the Sheer Granite Face of Life for all the young adventurers who are just starting to climb!

Maybe I'll be a drama teacher.

But even more important than pounding pitons (since the young climbers will undoubtedly figure out safer, faster routes after studying the placement of my own personal mistakes for approximately two seconds), will be blazing a trail down the other side of the mountain for my fellow Olderlings.

We'll abandon our parallel play and show those Youngerlings what real cooperation looks like!

(Sample exclamations overheard on said blazed trail:  "Lordy, you missed a bunion with the sunblock!"  "Let's all help fish the flailing boss out of that waterfall!" and "Who wants Metamucicles?")

I've been keeping pretty good notes so far, and feel well-equipped to point out possible danger spots.  We'll need to stick together during those rough places on the trail where it's tempting to veer into a 'super-negative-we're-all-doomed' campsite.  That's where we refuse to budge until the younger ones send helicopters and food and give up their own blankets and s'mores to help us out.  And why might we do that?  Because we said so, that's why.  Plus, we deserve it.  We're old.

Stop that right now.

Get up.  Grab your pack.  One of the smiling Fellow Future Geezers will help adjust the straps so your clavicles don't get rubbed raw as we shuffle on down to the Last Parking Lot Ever.  There are still plenty of adventures ahead, but for this next stretch:  Gravity's actually on our side.  (And - bonus - less neck strain if we're not constantly looking back to criticize whatever's happening in the years we've already had.)

Once in a while we'll stop and listen to the sounds of the young ones coming up the other side of Life Mountain.

Singing.  Laughing.  Slipping and taking little tumbles of their own.

As one of the world's smartest people, I promise you now that Expert Trailblazing has never been more important.

(Remember drowning in embarrassment when your grandfather told his 'special' joke to your first prom date?  Yeah.  She probably remembers it, too.  Meet me back here next week - I'm hosting a refresher on Campfire Storytelling Etiquette!)