The Lady Thought She Was Crazy When She Saw What's Possible

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I was standing in line at Old Navy, a pair of sweatpants in hand, waiting to check out. The two cashiers working the registers had a series of complicated customers — lots to return, lots to buy — so those of us in line did what we could to pass the time: scroll our phones, peer at the tchotchkes surrounding us, daydream.

Sometimes I might strike up conversation in a situation like this — yes, I’m that lady — but no one seemed to be in the talking mood. Frankly, I wasn’t either, so I stood there, sending my bored mind off into imagination land. Ever since I listened to an episode on boredom and creativity on Laurie Santos’ podcast, The Happiness Lab, I’ve tried to utilize these small opportunities instead of hightailing it to my phone. I’m telling you, it works. The brain likes free rein to roam and connect dots.

Unfortunately, no imagination land for me. The woman standing next to me kept looking directly at me. I wasn’t looking at her, but my peripheral vision was logging this odd event. The first time I noticed, I waited a few seconds to see if she’d look away, but when she didn’t, I turned to make eye contact, thinking she was trying to do the same — maybe to tell me something important, like, “This line is taking forever!”

But when I looked over, she just stared at me. It was like she was on the verge of saying something, but then she didn’t. To be polite, I smiled. She nodded. With no other ideas, I looked away, shrugging to myself. Oh well.

After a short time, my periphery caught her looking at me again. I figured this time she’d reveal what was going on, so I looked over, making eye contact, and again, she just nodded with a strange blank stare on her face. It was getting on the verge of unsettling, but since I am a sucker for wanting to understand people, I smiled, nodded — she doing the same — and I looked away, wondering what was going on instead of worrying about it.

By the third time, I was thinking, What in the heck is this lady doing? She was an enigma, pure and simple. It wasn’t like she had social or intellectual challenges. It wasn’t like she was creepy. Oh well, I thought, to each their own. I can’t figure this out. So, I didn’t. I went back to my reverie.

Just then, one of the cashiers called out, “Next!” and the lady started toward the checkout counter. But then, she doubled back and finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, but that thing on your shirt,” she said, pointing. “I thought it said 10K, but it says 100K. I thought I was crazy. What is that??”

Then she walked away. No goodbye. No nothing. Simply sharing her suspicion with me that she might be crazy. Or that I was certifiably weird.

I looked down at my shirt, not quite aware of what I had on, since a quick run to Old Navy never warrants anything other than thoughtless attire. It was my go-to sweatshirt I got from finishing one of my favorite ultra trail races, unfortunately, too long ago. It’s got tiny holes in it from such consistent use, but it’s holding its own because, hello, Patagonia (aka Patagucchi).

I was stunned after the lady walked off. It never would have occurred to me that she’d been grappling with the race information printed on my shirt. I wear that sweatshirt so often that I don’t think about it anymore. It’s my cozy shirt.

I stood there and thought about how this happens constantly with us humans. We look at others’ accomplishments and think we’d never be able to do the same. They might even seem unfathomable. Of course, there are things we’ll probably never do, thanks to impossible hurdles, but, say, running a marathon with no legs below the knees isn’t one of them. That’s been done plenty of times. Lack of legs isn’t a limiting factor in running. This begs the question: what else do we assume is limiting that isn’t?

Lately, I’ve been struggling a bit with getting the first draft finished for my first novel. I like how I call it my “first” novel, as if I expect more of these out of myself. You go, girl.

This lady’s comment at Old Navy couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s always helpful for me to see others dumbfounded about something that I think is normal. What? People run 100K?

Over here on my side: What? People get accepted by a publisher?

This shows me one simple logic: If it’s possible, though hard, then I can do it. Remember the legs factor.

It’s coming up on a year since I’ve worked on a four-person team of ADHD coaches who present a monthly webinar on a coaching topic for the ADHD Coaches Organization. The guy in charge sent me an email over a year ago, asking if I’d like to join the team. I was surprised, then flattered, then leery, eager, scared, and then jumped right in. It’d be a great learning experience and surely a vehicle for future opportunities. Plus, the guy liked my cartoons that accompanied my articles on Medium.com, which he suggested I might draw for our webinars, too.

That sealed the deal.

However, halfway through the year, the team started asking me if — meaning, when — I’d like to take the lead on a webinar and be the moderator. I’d agreed to do the backend work, which I diligently and dutifully managed, and told them at the outset I wasn’t interested in leading a webinar. Why?

Me = scared, shy one, even if I come across as the opposite of that.

But, through all my education and training as a coach, I’ve grown as a person and learned how to move forward in life — at least sometimes. If I can’t do what I help others to do, what use am I?

I looked at what might be true. One, the people who show up to the webinars are there for two reasons: to discuss coaching concerns with other coaches, and to get a continuing education credit. They are not there to scrutinize how perfectly I moderate a discussion.

The other thing I realized was that if you’re genuinely kind and appreciative of others, then everyone is happy. And that’s my wheelhouse.

I agreed to lead my first webinar. Shockingly, my heart didn’t pound off the charts. I felt at ease, and things went extremely well. It’s work to lead a discussion. You must do your due diligence, and when you do, you can achieve what you thought you couldn’t. You must want it somehow, in some way, and be willing to put in the effort. After that, you don the sweatshirt that says “Hellgate 100K Finisher” and a random lady gapes at it in Old Navy, and you both walk away wondering if your options are much wider than you assumed.

For her, running. For me, writing. For you, what?

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Have a nice rest of your week, friends.