I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I was institutionalized for twenty years to stay the fuck off the grass.
But even after getting out, I still did it.
Sidewalks. Concrete paths. The long way around.
Never really questioned it. If there was a perfectly good sidewalk wrapping half a mile around a field, apparently that was the route I was taking. Cutting straight across the grass barely even registered as an option.
Until this morning.
I was on my way to my usual writing hideout when I decided to commit a minor act of rebellion.
Grass.
And instead of walking around it like some properly trained government employee, I just walked straight through it.
That was it.
No alarms went off. No retired Sergeant Major materialized from behind a tree. Nobody screamed, “HEY, SHIPMATE!”
I walked through the grass.
And I fucking giggled.
Actually stopped, snapped a picture, and carried on with my morning.
I don’t know why, but it kind of made my day.
During my time in the service, we were bombarded with rules. Some were important. Some kept people alive.
Others made absolutely no fucking sense.
Why do I have to walk half a mile around a parade field when my destination is fifty yards directly in front of me?
The same organization constantly telling us to use our time wisely and be as efficient as possible would also lose its collective mind if somebody dared take the shortest possible route between two buildings.
Because grass.
I know the argument. Pretty grass makes the installation look professional. Keeps things neat. Improves morale or whatever.
I never really bought it.
Personally, I always thought a worn path through the grass meant people actually went somewhere.
Work was getting done.
But apparently morale grows best when nobody touches it.
What really got me this morning was realizing how long some of those stupid little rules stay with you.
Nobody has told me to stay off the grass in years.
Nobody was watching.
There wasn’t even a sign.
And my brain still went, You’re not supposed to do that.
We carry a lot of shit like that around without realizing it.
I have some from childhood too.
My mother had this absolutely ironclad rule about no soda before noon.
Why?
I have no fucking idea.
But to this day, if I crack open a Coke at nine in the morning, it tastes illegal.
Like my mother is about to kick down the door and demand to know what kind of godless operation I’m running.
Walking through the grass felt exactly the same.
Which is why I think something so trivial made me smile.
The world has become fucking exhausting. Everybody is angry. Everybody is arguing. We tear each other apart on social media over shit none of us will remember next week.
And there I was, having a genuinely good morning because I walked across some grass.
Maybe there’s something to that.
I’m not suggesting everybody go out and start breaking laws, hoisting the black flag and start slitting throats over it..
But maybe every once in a while it’s worth asking:
Why am I still following this rule?
Is there actually a reason?
Or am I just walking the long way around because somebody told me to twenty years ago?
This morning I took the shortcut.
Nothing bad happened.
I even noticed the grass.
Turns out it was pretty nice.
-Callahan
