The Holiday Strut

The sun is slowly setting on a beautiful summer day in Melbourne.

This sunset is different than most. It’s transformed the blue sky into a fiery shade of red – illuminating a city in its prime, sending a message;

This is a day to get outside and do something with your short, ridiculous life while you still can. Listen, idiot, you're here for a second, then it's all over. Your couch, no matter how comfortable, understanding and forgiving, can wait till tomorrow. Run as fast as your legs will take you. Give the next person you see a cheeky smile and high five. Don't forget to put some oil and water in your car. Start thinking about another overseas holiday. Call your dad for no reason. Make sure you download that episode of New Girl I told you about, I love that show. Now GO!

The stupid sunset was right. I got off the comfortable couch, I downloaded the episode, I rang my dad – but with a reason – he had to remember to put oil and water in my car the next time I visited.

Son of the year. I know, I know.

When you remove all of the obvious benefits, advantages and blinding hatred-causing repercussions of running, I think the thing I like most is that it's time away from everything but the little voice in my head. It's just me, my childish thoughts and the city.

As I started my run, realising that numerous muscles on my legs no longer work the way they used to, I passed by a high school – one of the most beautiful and expensive schools in the country.

Students were finishing for the last time in 2013, walking over to their parent's incredibly-expensive cars and leaving for home – the summer holidays had begun.

No matter how old I get, I think summer will always be defined by that same walk to my parent's car.

I loved that walk, dressed in my ill-fitting school uniform, lugging my school bag that was bigger than me. I had worked hard all year for a break. The holidays had begun, filled with freedom, promise, backyard cricket and parties – much like they still are today, two decades later.

That walk – or what I like to call the holiday strut – is the most exciting time of year.

Whether it's finishing school for the year, stepping out of your office for annual leave or driving home in the sun with the window down and music blaring – it's a time when you truly believe that the days will soon belong to no one but yourself.

As I passed the students, reminiscing on those days, the first thing that came to mind was that giving the next person I saw a cheeky smile and high five was probably out of the question. On a scale of 1-10 on the creep scale, a stranger trying to give high five to kids outside of a school is a solid six. It's not as bad as people I've seen walking their cats on a leash (7.8) and certainly not in the realm of people who walk their children on a leash (a solid, unwavering 10), but it's still not cool.

People, if you're so hung up on having something to walk, stop living in denial and get a dog.

The second thing that came to mind was the magic behind the holiday strut.

Characterised by an improved posture, arched back, high knees, raised chin and enthusiastic arm swinging, the holiday strut is a thing of true beauty. Designed to inspire your fellow man and be the beacon of happiness.

I saw it all the time when I holidayed overseas. I loved watching it in airports when people were minutes away from boarding a plane. I remember my Dad used to break it out before a long family road trip. When I walked through Disneyland many moons ago, I didn't see one non-strutting person. Not one.

My Nonno has that same strut in summer, not because he's on holiday, but because it's tomato season – much more important.

Just as happiness cannot be defined without sadness, the holiday strut is nothing without the rat race crawl. Those suffering the rat race crawl will often feature blank, vacant eyes, stooped shoulders, dragging feet and a beaten, sullen overall look.

We put ourselves through the crawl to reach the heights of the strut. Those heights are nothing if you don't earn them and when you have earned them, hold onto them for as long as you can.

With that thought, I ran a little faster, a little harder – exaggerating the 'injured penguin' style that has become my hallmark. If the path to happiness – that feeling as I strut back to my parent's car at the end of a school year – was found through hard work, I was going to run until I couldn't feel my own legs – which won't be too long, as they were struggling to begin with.

Strut proudly friends. The days now belong to no one but us.

Push the envelope

When I was younger and filled with enthusiasm, optimism and Tiny Teddy biscuits, I used to love getting mail.

Mail represented hope. It represented fun, excitement and a connection to the outside world. 

There was something amazing about the potential in every envelope. One piece of paper could change your life in an instant.

Maybe I had won that cool prize-pack on Cheez TV. Maybe Luke Skywalker finally got my letters. Maybe the girl I had a crush on tracked down my address and was about to confess her love. Maybe, just maybe, Nintendo were going to hire me as their chief game-tester.

But, the dream that held a special place above the others was that one day, the Collingwood Football Club would write to my parents, asking if I could play for the Magpies.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ciconte, we’ve seen incredible potential in your son Dominic’s backyard kick-to-kick sessions and we’d like him to train with us and be a Collingwood footballer."

Fast forward 20 years and last week, filled with scepticism, bitterness and Tiny Teddy biscuits, I checked the mail

The mail now represents despair. It delivers bills, fines and bizarre religious pamphlets that offer to save my ‘eternal soul’. The fun and hope has been stripped away with the burdens and responsibilities of being an adult. 

Worst of all, there’s still no letter from Collingwood.

With every year that passes by, the chance of receiving that letter becomes less and less likely.

I'm starting to get old, my knees are not what they used to be, I haven't played football competitively for almost a decade and I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be coming in and easily taking a spot from professional athletes that have been training their whole lives for that opportunity – it would be selfish of me.

The dilemma made me think about the other things that may have passed me by. 

• Yesterday robbed me of the chance to drink the now-expired milk in my fridge.
• Last week saw me cross the vortex when non-contact for 12 months turns a friend into an ‘old friend’.
• In my working life, I’ve had seven opportunities to legitimately use the excuse “it’s my first day” and I’ve wasted them all.
• Last week I heard a sound bite of myself singing – I’ve since cancelled my plans for a world tour.
• Almost a decade ago, I lost the opportunity to speak to the man I was named after ever again.

Every day provides an opportunity to do something great, something amazing, something you’ll remember for the rest of your life. But, for each opportunity you gain, one slips away.

 
The trick is to make sure that you are taking more from each day than it’s taking from you. 

For many of us, most of our (realistic) dreams will be achievable until the day we die, but, there are some dreams that will slip away well before we’re ready to let them ago.
 

I guess knowing the right time to let go is a skill you gain while growing up – somewhere in that time period between being excited by the mail and being disappointed by it.

There are some dreams I’m willing to let go of, but, it’s going to be a long time before I give up on that letter from Collingwood.