Cavort: (v) to jump or dance around excitedly.
There was a time in my life when I did not feel as if I was having fun unless I had completely lost control.
I remember being twelve years old and arriving at church camp, running into the cabin, knocking over all my friends and wrestling on the
floor as the counselor looked on in horror at the tangling, giggling mass of melee.
That’s back when I had more energy than brains.
I had more naughty ideas than I did conscience.
And I felt if every part of my body was not moving toward pleasure, I was cheating myself out of the joys of being young.
I cavorted–I really did.
And I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten the sheer random joy of the endeavor. Even in discovering my sexuality, doing it in the back seat of a Mustang made it much more dangerous and therefore, appealing. (Nowadays, I couldn’t even get into the back seat of a Mustang.)
We become better adults when we remember the joys of cavorting, recalling those times when saving our energy was not necessary… because it seemed limitless.