In on the Joke

"If you want stability" my physical therapist told me, "practice with instability," and had me stand on one foot on a squishy, half-orb bosu ball.

Travel is practicing instability.
I'm home from my 48-hour trip to Duluth.

I've been there many times, and I didn't do anything new this time, but I still got that Trip Effect--the feeling of being lifted from my life, seeing it from far away as arbitrary, wobbly, unstable:
All this could be otherwise. 
All this is otherwise.

On my phone in my motel room, I watched a snippet of Stephen Colbert interviewing RuPaul in relation to an exhibit "Camp: Notes on Fashion" at the Met in NYC. 
"What is camp?" Colbert asked.

It's a fine line, RuPaul said, but an outfit is camp if the wearer is in on the joke.

In on the joke.
Taking a trip gives perspective on my life, reminding me, "Oh! This, life, is like a joke." 

I don't mean life is a joke as in, "ha-ha, nothing's serious", but a joke as in, "clearly a made-up story"--a reminder that everyday reality is unstable.
Like fashion. 
The biological reality may be that we need some sort of clothing to protect our bodies. Fashion is the joke. Jokes are not necessarily fun or harmless, of course.
(Blackshirts.)

The clothes we dress in, especially the stories we wear––are made up by us humans, but sometimes I see myself gripping a scrap of cloth as if it had a stable, objective reality, as if it will keep me safe.

Taking a trip is a good shake up. I want to be flexible, in on the joke, when nonnegotiable realities (like the weather, or illness) hit me.