Oh my gosh. Tonight I went to the rodeo. Like horses and bulls and cowboys (in Wranglers)–the rodeo. This afternoon my friend Kim invited me. She–apparently–goes every night, every year, and had an extra ticket. And whereas at first I said no (I had plans to work and was also stressed out with car maintenance issues), I changed my mind. My dad encouraged me. He said, “Marcus, you haven’t been to the rodeo since you were a child. Live a little.” So that’s what I did. Or rather, that’s what we did–me, Kim, and her daughter Laura–slapped on our cowboy hats and had a big ole time.

Giddyup.

Don’t squat with your spurs on.

So, I don’t know if you’ve been to the rodeo, but it really is the wildest thing. Our group sat on the front row, and several times had dirt kicked in our faces by the animals. Kim said one year a bull’s leg came through the guardrail and hit her son’s knee. Talk about live drama. As if the cowboys who ride the bucking horses and bulls weren’t enough. I kept watching those guys tonight, their spinal columns whipped about like those blow-up Crayon characters in front of car dealerships. Seriously, they looked like rubber, but you know that’s got to hurt. One cowboy tonight got bucked off and landed on his knees in the splits and limped off like I did when I tore my ACL. Laura said, “I bet her broke his leg.”

I said, “This shit is real.”

On a lighter note, one of the categories tonight was called Mutton Busting, which basically involved toddlers (4 to 8 year olds) holding onto the backs of sheep for their dear lives. Oh my gosh, talk about adorable–the kids wear protective vests and helmets and clamp down with all fours while the sheep run, run, run. I’ve never laughed so hard in all my life.

When the rodeo was over, Kim and Laura visited with some friends of Kim’s, and I ate a caramel-covered apple with nuts. This is “a thing” of mine whenever I’m at the fair–and, now–the rodeo. Talk about delicious.

Next we went to an afterparty “just to check things out.” Y’all, we ended up closing the place down. First we visited (the bar and with each other), then Laura and I hit the dance floor. Talk about exciting–I love two-step, and this was my first chance to two-step since my knee injury. And whereas Laura hasn’t danced a ton before, she caught on super-duper quick, so we had a blast. A blast, I say.

At one point during the night, we joked that this really was “my first rodeo,” since I don’t remember going as a child. At least I don’t remember watching the events and understanding what was happening. And whereas parts of it really were terrifying (horses and bulls are powerful animals), that was part of the fun, part of the thrill. I commented that the bull fighting (there was bull fighting!) was our modern-day equivalent of gladiators and the colosseum. You know, where people would die. I don’t know, there’s just nothing like live (and dangerous) entertainment, seeing a cowboy fly through the air, smelling the animals, feeling the dirt land against your skin.

Recently the Arkansas River flooded in Fort Smith and Van Buren, like higher than it ever has before. My immediate friends and family are okay, but it’s gross. Buildings and homes and under water. Some of my former students are affected, not just by the water, but by looters. I can’t imagine. All this being said, it’s phenomenal to see the river up so high. This afternoon I was driving over one of the bridges, and I couldn’t believe it. There was water everywhere, covering the tree tops, just below a local retaining wall. Anyway, I was suddenly struck with the peace of it all. What I mean is that in the midst of this big, powerful river, I connected with that sense of quiet that’s always there if we’d just slow down enough to realize it. I thought, Nature is herself. She doesn’t ask for praise on a sunny day or apologize when she turns a town upside down. She simply continues to move.

It was beautiful.

Personally, I think this beauty that is life is always there for us. It’s just we get so busy that we don’t see it, feel it. We get so wrapped up in what we think is wrong that we don’t see what’s right. We go about our days assuming we’ve been there and done that. We say, “This ain’t my first rodeo.” Consequently, we get cynical. We lose our capacity to wonder, to be amazed. It takes something grand or violent–a raging bull or river–to get our attention, to wake us up the present moment. And yet each new moment offers something beautiful and amazing. You and I have seen yesterday’s sun and today’s sun, but not tomorrow’s. No, tomorrow’s sun has never risen, never set. Indeed, tomorrow itself is a whole new rodeo, which we can attend with fresh, full-of-wonder eyes if we are wiling.

Giddyup.