Rainbows, Clydesdales, and the Art of Being a Delightfully Unpredictable Senior

Let me tell you something that took me nearly eighty years to figure out.

Life is not a spreadsheet. It is not a carefully calibrated plan that you execute flawlessly until you run out of time. If it were, we would all be bored out of our ever-loving minds.

No, life is a surprise machine. And surprises are life's ultimate way of gently, or sometimes not so gently, tapping you on the shoulder and saying, "Wake up, sleepyhead. You're missing the show."

Here is the trouble with us sensible seniors. We have learned things. We have survived things. We have accumulated wisdom like squirrels accumulate nuts, and we are rightly proud of our stash.

But sometimes that wisdom becomes a cage.

We know what we like. We know what we do not like. We know what works and what does not work. And somewhere along the way, we stop asking new questions because we already have all the answers.

But here is the thing about answers. They are just old questions that fell asleep.

And when we stop asking new questions, we stop growing. We stop transforming. We become monuments to ourselves, and monuments are lovely to visit, but they do not dance, they do not laugh, and they certainly do not try kale for the first time at age seventy-eight. (I did not like it, but I will try it again in 10 years,)

Let me explain the phrase "Rainbows and Clydesdales."

A rainbow is a surprise. You do not schedule it. You do not earn it. You are just going about your rainy day, feeling a bit glum, and suddenly the sun breaks through and there it is, a ridiculous, glorious, impossible arc of colour painted across the sky. It asks nothing of you except that you look up and say, "Oh."

A Clydesdale, on the other hand, is a different kind of surprise. Have you ever seen one up close? They are enormous. They are magnificent. They are the gentle giants of the horse world. And if you are lucky enough to encounter one, maybe at a fair, maybe pulling a wagon full of tourists, maybe just standing in a field looking impossibly large, you cannot help but feel a little bit smaller and a little bit wonder-full at the same time.

Neither rainbows nor Clydesdales care about your schedule. Neither asks for your opinion. Neither requires a committee meeting.

They just show up. And they make you feel alive.

That is what I mean by thinking outside the box. Not because outside the box is smarter. Because outside the box is where the rainbows and Clydesdales live.

Here is my challenge to you. Starting tomorrow morning, do one thing a day that surprises someone. Especially yourself.

Not big things. You do not need to take up skydiving or learn to play the bagpipes (please do not learn to play the bagpipes unless you live very far from other humans).

Small things.

• Put a rubber chicken on the kitchen table. Leave it there. Say nothing.
• Call your adult child and leave a voicemail that is just you humming the Jeopardy theme song.
• Wear one purple sock and one green sock. Act like you do not notice.
• Put a funny sticker on your walker. A googly eye on your cane. A tiny plastic flamingo in your houseplant.

These are not ridiculous acts. These are acts of rebellion. They are you reminding yourself that you are not a monument. You are a living, breathing, surprising human being who still has the capacity to delight.

And here is the best part. When you do something surprising, you force everyone around you to ask a new question.

Why is there a rubber chicken on the table?
Did Dad just hum the Jeopardy theme song?
Is he really wearing mismatched socks, or is this a test?

Those questions wake people up. They shake them out of their own deep sleep. And before you know it, you are not just a senior. You are a leader. You are a role model. You are the person who reminded everyone that life is allowed to be fun.

A few years ago, I decided to wear a Hawaiian shirt to a formal board meeting. Not aggressively formal, but the kind of meeting where people wear collared shirts and use words like "strategic alignment."

I walked in. People stared. No one said anything.

Halfway through the meeting, the treasurer, a lovely woman, looked at me and said, "Royce, is that a palm tree on your shirt?"

I said, "It is. I am conducting a strategic alignment of tropical vibes."

She laughed. The whole room laughed. And the meeting was better for it. People loosened up. Ideas flowed. We got more done in that hour than in the previous two meetings combined.

All because of a stupid shirt.

That is the power of thinking differently. It is not about being smarter. It is about being looser. It is about giving yourself permission to be a little ridiculous so that the people around you give themselves permission to be a little human.

Here is a truth that might surprise you. The young people in your life are not looking for you to have all the answers. They have Google for that.

What they are looking for is permission. Permission to be uncertain. Permission to try things and fail. Permission to laugh in the middle of hard times. Permission to wear mismatched socks and put rubber chickens on tables.

And you can give them that permission simply by doing it yourself.

When you act like a monument, you tell them that life is serious and mistakes are not allowed and joy is for children.

When you act like a rainbow or a Clydesdale, unexpected, glorious, a little ridiculous, you tell them that life is allowed to be strange and wonderful and that growing older does not mean growing stiff.

Which message do you want to send?

So here is my challenge to you for this week.

Find one rainbow. Real or metaphorical. A splash of unexpected colour in an otherwise grey day.

Find one Clydesdale. Something so unexpectedly magnificent that it makes you feel small and wonder-full at the same time.

And then find one small, surprising thing that you can do to wake someone else up.

Not because you have to. Because you get to.

Because you are a senior. You have earned the right to be eccentric. You have earned the right to be surprising. You have earned the right to put a rubber chicken on the table and dare anyone to say a word about it.

Now go forth and be delightfully unpredictable.

The world needs more rainbows. And Clydesdales. And seniors in Hawaiian shirts.

That is your legacy. Not what you accumulated. What you awakened.