When i was a senior in high school, i got stood up. my fella was a year ahead of me, and was home from college for christmas break. some friends were having a formal holiday party and he agreed to go…of course he didn’t really want to though. i got ready for the party. which, for me, took extraordinary effort. he never showed to pick me up.
the disappointment was stinging. the pain that seeped from both my dad’s eyes and his heart was humiliating. i was not going to be a victim. i swallowed the sadness with a fair dose of ego, picked my chin up, and asked my father to drive me to the party. his energy had shifted from pain to anger by the time he dropped me off. the father-daughter blindspot kept him from seeing my role in all of it. my slippery grasp on effective communication. my flare for the dramatic. my catholic self-righteousness. we were young, and learning, and weren’t supposed to get it right all the time. what took me several days to let-g0-of and forgive, took my father several years. now, 25 years later, i understand.
This morning required another helping of extraordinary effort to get ready. The plan was to ride the snowmobile the 4 miles out to the corrals, then hop on my bike and ride the 11 miles to the Subaru parked in Painted Hills, then drive the 3 miles back to town to pick Devlin up from Pre-K at noon.
I had to get my bike-box out and sort through for alltherightstuff. it had not frozen overnight, as it usually does, and it was skipping back and forth between drizzling and sideways sleeting. I had to have the right layers on to snowmobile, bike, and show up at Pre-K. Plus i needed to pack my bike helmet, Crit’s snowmobile helmet, and wear a snowmobile helmet. i packed it all up. had all the gear on including the helmet and went out to start the snowmobile….crickets…
i couldn’t get it to start. i tried for a good while. in fact i felt like i had completed at least 5 miles on the rowing machine by pulling the cord overandoverandover. i called DW to alert him that i might not make it in to scoop up Box. he suggested i take to lid off, pull off the spark plugs, wipe them down and try again.
so there i was. dressed head to toe in all-weather gear, eager for my first bike ride of 2017. wiping down spark plugs in the pestering rain. unable to make it out to my bike.
i felt that familiar sting of disappointment of being let down.
i lifted my chin and reassessed. plan B, right? that’s my jam.
i mopped up the mud that i tracked in from my multiple attempts at revving up the mobile. and began to type.
i aways wonder when i am going to find time to write, as i would like to practice more and more. it is important to be aware of the gift of an extra couple of hours when it punches you in the face!