Signs

Signs of Success

When the morning chores are like the weather there is a flurry of activity. Making coffee, of course does not count. Simply as a reference, and because this is, after all, a running tabulation of all associated chaos, I will list what has already gone down this fine Thursday morning. 

The couch where I am currently house/dog sitting was quick in reminding me that it was designed for sitting and not sleeping. My lower back sore and hips tight from the combination of yesterday’s three sessions and the shrinking couch, I stumble to boil water, grind beans and clean the French Press. The sweet chocolate lab whom I have supervised since she was a pup wags her tail in anticipation of breakfast soon to be dished-up. Even the overweight orange cat has come downstairs to see if any orts are accessible. Pets fed I head home with last nights to-do list in front shirt pocket. 

Grabbing second cup of joe I log-on to get an updated damage report on the carnage treasonously underway at the hand of this disgustingly criminal administration and their complicit cabal of conservative felons. I am not disappointed as yet another scandal is reported as they scramble to distract fragile American attention spans with another rhetorical run up to war. My coffee tastes like fear. 

Last night my ancient laptop suffered the computer equivalent of a stroke. I did the only troubleshooting test I could, switching the power cable, and went in search of help. Found the model and part number and ordered a new battery. While on-line I succumbed to the allure of my current favorite TV dramatic series, Homeland, and begrudgingly coughed up the $17 for season seven. Also, after quickly connecting a couple of obvious dots, I sourced and signed up for a month-long on-line screenwriters seminar. Hang on Carrie!

Most importantly however was communications with my two favorite gals. They are in Northern California, cycling today from Pt. Reyes into The City. This, as you know, covers the terrain where I visited and filmed just a month ago, and currently spend hours each day in the editing suite obsessing over its portrayal as a documentary. In a startling moment of truth it became very apparent that one of these fearless ladies was struggling with the challenge of the days 4,500ft of elevation gain. I did my best to text encouragement and inspiration but may have failed. They are riding as I type. I am sending supportive vibes. Yet as I considered the words of hope and motivation I used and their appropriateness to the situation, it becomes clear to me, as I walk to the kitchen for another cup, that everyone has their own limits, their personal brick wall of doubt where unmistakable signs of ’no passing’ are posted, a gate fortified with fear and protected by mental dragons and horrible thoughts of failure. And we turn and run never reading the fine print. 

I have never known this person to shy from challenge. She routinely performs acts as courageous, bold and impressive as anyone I have ever seen. I have a mountain of respect for her. But when she really needed help - all I had was the usual, banal cliches about facing fear, taking the first step, seeking the joy of challenge, etcetera, etcetera. And I feel like I let her down at the one moment when I really needed to pick her up. 

I did the easy stuff this morning being a consumer. I failed at being a coach.