Be Ridiculous

The other day, in the midst of some crazy at the full time job, with my head swimming of things I needed to do and people I needed to speak to and reply to. I got a voicemail. A voice from the past who said just a few words…..

And suddenly I taken back in time. I was fourteen again, a greenhorn freshman on her first ever mission trip to Mexico, meeting for the first time a tall, gangly, long haired teenage male. His name was Scott.

I was familiar with him. His brother was in my grade and thus in my youth group at the church I attended and had spoke of him once or twice, so I knew he existed. But until that trip, I didn’t know much about him. He looked like a hippy and a free spirit and a goth all rolled in to one. My conservative-reared young mind didn’t quite know how to understand him.

We weren’t ever truly friends. He never was told secrets from my heart like others in that circle were. But he was also present in my mind when thinking of the trips I took to what I once considered my second home. He was the best friend of the person I once called my older brother, so I accepted he was always there. We drifted apart after high school, especially since he was a few years older than I was. We then reconnected for a bit in adulthood only to drift away once more for good.

The only word that ever has come to mind when thinking of Scott is ridiculous.

Ridiculoso in Spanish, since he was truly one of the ones who taught me the language I still speak to this day.

He seriously was ridiculous. He lived life as ridiculously real and authentic as he could. From using a chip bag that he made into a wallet (or was it a cracker box) even when he had other wallets to accepting a ride on a sketchy motorbike late at night on a Mexican dirt road to just being ridiculous in the way he used the higher academic words he found in the dictionary to the way he sold used books on Amazon in its humble beginnings to the way he composted on a patio in an apartment complex in the middle of suburban Orange County, California. He lived life on his terms and never really cared what people thought about him. He took risks and seemed to fly by the seat of his pants more often than not. He was outspoken and intelligent despite the hippy look and always spoke up for the rights of others and learned stories that were not his own. In his own way, he exuded light and love, hope and joy, peace and magic. I was just too stubborn to see it then because we always seemed to butt heads.

I thought he’d outlive all of us because he was just…. well…. ridiculous enough to do so.

So to hear the other day that he was gone, ravaged by a cancer that I would not wish on anyone…..It saddens me. It hurts in a way I never thought would be possible. It reminds me that life is just one big risk. It’s just one big adventure. And some of us live it more fully than others. Scott was one of those people. He may have pissed me off more than once (oooooooh the arguments we would have!!!!), but he also taught me that life isn’t meant to be lived by the rules of others. Perhaps he rubbed off a bit on me. I am no longer that child that thought inside the box and lived by rules others imposed on me. I have become a bit bolder in my own thinking and have branched out. I speak for those who need help. I have become ridiculous in some ways…. and maybe, just maybe, I have Scott’s influence to thank for even a bit of that. And while the chapters of the story he was writing have come to a close, his story is not done yet. His ridiculousness will live on in the legends, discombobulated as they may be.

Be ridiculous.

Live your life. Write your own story.

Stay magical, friends

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