Orange Shorts

This week I went on one of those whirlwind, overnight business trips that goes by so quickly that you wonder if it really happened.  I flew to NY on Wednesday for a dinner with the great folks at my publishing company and then was part of a magazine editor luncheon where myself and 3 other authors had a chance to talk about our upcoming books.  The purpose is to generate some advance interest and/or possible publicity for when our books come out.

I got up Thursday morning, and like anytime I have to get up and talk, I wondered what the heck I was going to say.  Being a nerd at heart, I crafted some notes on a sheet of the hotel notepad.  My notes were so outlined, dry and boring that I almost fell back asleep ("The evolution of the project came about...blah, blah, blah." It was awful.)  I had to escape my hotel room and my head, so I went to the gym.  Ideally I would have gone running in Central Park (the weather was gorgeous!) but with my sense of direction I figured I would likely end up getting lost or getting mugged (and missing my luncheon entirely), so I hit the treadmill.  Once I started moving, my brain fog began to lift.  It's amazing how a run can do that.  As I stared out the window and watched the fast paced New Yorkers hoofing it up 7th Avenue, my thoughts started to move as well.  I got enough clarity to remind myself that the only time anyone ever cares what I have to say (like all of us, hello) is when I speak from my heart.  If I couldn't share why this manuscript was special and important enough to me to devote a year of my life to it...why on earth would they care to read it, publicize it, or print an excerpt from it?

After 5 miles, I went back upstairs, showered, dressed and threw my paper in the trash.  When it was my turn to talk, I am not sure exactly what I said, but I do know that I was myself.

I guess the thing that keeps me from doing this more often (scrapping my notes or my shyness and being myself), is fear.  I had another example recently, this time of a personal nature.  My kids "took me" to the Hyatt Lost Pines resort for an overnight on Mother's Day weekend.  It's a great getaway, not far from home, with a waterslide and a "lazy river" which is a man-made river surrounding the pool. People float around it in inner tubes all day long - it's kid, and mommy, heaven.

I have to say that I rarely, if ever, see anyone of the opposite sex that stops me in my tracks, but I did about five minutes after we got to the pool.  Usually, I am the person at the pool who is so preoccupied with slathering sunscreen on my kids or myself, ordering sprites and chicken fingers, locating errant flip flops, and keeping track of small people as they bob around the lazy river that I don't see anything, or anyone.  But this guy, well, he was so beautiful and so my type that God might as well have put a bow on him with a tag that said, "For Kristin.  Love, God."

We stood on the steps watching for free inner tubes, because the lazy river was packed.  I saw him and I froze - the odd sensation of recognizing someone you have never seen before.  He floated by and said to me, "If you want a tube, you kinda have to hijack one."  I thought to myself, "I'd rather hijack you."  Only the problem was, I didn't just think it, I accidentally said it out loud (apparently I left my filter in my beach bag?) and felt my face turn as red as a sunburn.  He laughed, luckily.  I saw him throughout the day, floating nearby or playing basketball or goofing off with his friends.  I think he was there with a wedding party, but I couldn't tell for sure.  I didn't see any wife or any children.  At one point he said something funny to me, and I had the courage to say, "So, are you enjoying a nice weekend with your wife and children?"  And he smiled and said, no wife.  At least that much was clear.

But here's the thing.  I never really talked to him.  I was brave enough to throw out a (questionably) witty remark, but I never had the courage to be real...to say hello, introduce myself, find out his name, actually get to know him.  On one hand I am a mother of three awesome kids, a writer, a marathon runner, have sat and dished on Oprah's famous white couch for goodness sake...but yet when it comes to a cute guy, I revert back to 8th grade and I suddenly have braces, my arms crossed over my chest, and can't make eye contact.  What is my deal?

I think we all have something, for me it's phenomenon of the guy in the orange shorts, that snags us.  A fear that comes back from childhood to haunt us and keeps us from stepping outside our comfort zone.  I could rationalize and say that maybe he never wanted to talk to me because I was surrounded by family and being motored through the lazy river by three small sets of kicking feet.  Or maybe he loves children and I will never know because I was too shy, too afraid to find out. 

It's the catch 22 of being a grown up, simultaneoulsy wanting certain things but being scared to death of them at the same time.  We have to own whatever is our thing in "orange shorts" and realize that until we are brave enough to acknowledge the desire (for love, for friendship, for a promotion, for a chance at adventure, for a shot at pursuing our dream) we will never, ever have the opportunity to see it blossom in our life.

My brother, while laughing at me in classic sibling tradition, tried to comfort me over the "loss" of my unknown sweetheart by quoting a song lyric from the Robert Plant/Allison Krauss album, "Let your loss be your lesson."  It bugs me when he goes Yoda on me, but he does have a really good point.

Let's not let life float by.

*p.s. if you happen to know the handsome, dark haired man with the great smile in the orange shorts and aviator sunglasses who was last seen on May 10th at the Hyatt Lost Pines in Bastrop, TX, please tell him I want to start over and say hello.  My name is Kristin.

Thirty Stolen Minutes

My notion that running and I had to break up just to get some space turned out to be untrue; we just had to clear the air a little bit.  Last week I did yoga, walked my dog, ran easy in the rain, and did 3 miles of speed work at the track.  I had no method or motive; I just let my mood guide my effort and enjoyed every second of it. 

I am busy with the momentum of the end of school as well as trying to edit my latest manuscript - I have a new book coming out in '09.  When I get stuck in the middle of a chapter, it does me no good whatsoever to sit and brood over it.  Rather than waiting for inspiration to strike, I opt for movement in hopes of clearing my head enough to make room for creativity.  It's just like when you are plagued with insomnia and you lie in the dark telling yourself to sleep, sleep, sleep, SLEEP.  Not helpful.  Creativity is the same way - if you try to force it, it eludes you.  Better to busy yourself in other ways and let it tap you on the shoulder.  So that's what I do. I go for a walk or a run and when the fog lifts in my head, I turn around and take my new idea back to my office. 

I want to tell you about my most magical run last week.  On Saturday my son Luke made his First Communion.  We had family and godparents in town and everything was so exciting.  Which was probably why I was wide awake at 5 on Saturday morning, even though my alarm was set for 7.  I stared into the dark and listened to the whir of my ceiling fan for about five minutes until I acknowledged that I was up for good and went to make a cup of coffee.  I was hosting a brunch later that morning for my family, Lance's family, and the godparents, so I could have busied myself with hostess preparations.  I didn't feel anxious at all, so the idea of busy work was unappealing.  Mostly I was just excited.  By the time I reached the bottom of my cup, I knew what I wanted to do.

My friend (and Luke's godmother) Peggy was asleep upstairs, and all the children were sound asleep, so I quietly slipped into my running clothes.  I carried my shoes outside so I could depart in silence.  The morning was balmy, almost tropical.  I sat on the steps and pulled on my shoes.  I set out in a random path that followed the streetlights, staying close to my neighborhood where I feel safest in the dark.  As I ran I could feel my body start to wake up, start to loosen up and fumble for my stride.  I rounded a corner and was greeted with a strong breeze.  One of my neighbors has a gardenia tree in full bloom, and the gust of fragrance was intoxicating.  Gardenia blossom is one of my all-time favorite smells; in fact, my wedding bouquet was made entirely of gardenias.  I felt like God was smiling on me. 

As I ran I thought of Luke.  The combination of his First Communion and Mother's Day on Sunday made me reflect on moments of the past eight years of being a mother.  It was like watching a montage of film clips in my mind, flashes of memory set to the soundtrack of life.  It occurred to me that so many of the beloved aspects of my life, my writing and my running and my relationships, are all flavored by my love for my children.  Where I had diluted areas in the past, I am now full concentration.  Motherhood refines us.  It  forces us to refocus and re-prioritize, leaving just enough room for what really counts.

I felt full, blessed to the point of overflowing.  I checked my watch a couple of times, not because I wondered how much farther I had to go, but because I wanted to know how much more time I had to enjoy.  The rest of the day was about celebrating Luke and honoring the special people who were invited to our home.  But this time was mine; 30 stolen minutes in the dark, early morning.

I slipped back into my sleeping house in silence, my shoes back in my hand.  I padded in sock feet to grab a glass of water and head to the shower.  The day would soon be picking up speed.  But my pace was already determined, my peace solid on the inside.