A few of my favorite whims

A few of my favorite whims

April 19, 2001

'Smatter of Fact
By Katharhynn Heidelberg

I think we look down on whimsical folks a little more than we ought to. Whims are by definition silly flights of fancy, born of spontaneity rather than logic. Good heavens, we think, that’s no way to run a life!

We’re in denial. Some of the best things in life are born of whims.

In 1994, a whim moved a family member to poke his nose into a box of kittens outside of a local supermarket. I wasn’t very crazy about that tiny kitten at first. He was whiny, looked like a pile of congealed oatmeal, and besides, he kept getting lost between seat cushions. It was just too soon after the death of the previous family cat. No way was I going to warm to this one.

Today, that itty-bitty pile of fur is a tattered tom terror. He’s now the size of a small couch. Still demanding, too — just recently, the greedy-gutted little scam artist conned me out of a second can of food. But I happen to worship that cat, and every time I catch myself criticizing someone over a harebrained idea, I remember: A whim brought me Norman.

A 1992 whim led me to a mentor and a friend. I was a second-term college freshman, and the medieval-history course I wanted was open only to juniors and seniors. On a whim, I applied anyway — just in case. Thus, I found out computers are fallible. No electronic beeps went off; there was no prompt for the professor’s signature. I was in.

The first day of class, the instructor told all freshmen who’d been admitted they would have to leave. As a few others trundled out of the room (with looks of relief, as they’d just taken a gander at the syllabus), I remained rigidly in my seat, determined to stick with it until the first paper was graded. When it was, I used the grade (a decent one) as my bargaining chip and ’fessed up. I thought he would take exception to the low-level deceit, but instead, he offered to sign me into his next upper-level history course.

This same man became one of my best friends, and also inspired me to stay in college when I would have otherwise dropped out. Some "whim," eh?

In 1996, I found myself in Wales for a year-long stay. It was a long way from home, the course of study was rigorous and it was a very different world. It was also very rewarding. So, I must have planned for years in anticipation of this adventure, right? I must have reasoned everything out carefully before I applied, right?

Naah. The initial decision was a whim. A bunch of friends and I were sitting around my apartment, and I kept complaining about how I never went anywhere. My roommate’s boyfriend looked at me and said: "Just go." So, I did. I got a master’s degree and an unforgettable experience out of what started as a whim.

In 1999, I’d had it with the Eastern Slope, and its endless, depressing string of unfriendly cities. I decided I was due for a break, and came home for a visit.

There, while thumbing through the paper, I saw: "Editorial Assistant wanted. Send résumé and writing sample to P.O. Box O." On a whim (perhaps I shouldn’t admit that), I dropped the requisite documents in the mail. I was called for an interview a few days later.

This whim also had a happy ending — in more ways than one. I’ve had few jobs where colleagues have treated me so well, or any job where my supervisor actually respected me. There are few other publications that permit an editorial assistant to write features, columns and reviews. It was a profitable whim indeed.

I am not suggesting that we dispense utterly with logic. After all, a reliance on solely capricious behavior cannot bring sustained success. But there’s no reason to reject every flight of fancy, either. Long live the whim!