Hand in the Cookie Jar

Day 2 of the commitment to write every day before our wedding and I am winning. Today, I am doing it. Butt is in the chair and today I am writing. The Beast? Absolutely.

This morning the Beast decided it was an emergency to research Polaroid cameras for kids. On the walk this morning, Kelly and I were talking about cool gift basket ideas for our family. Instantly, I had so many ideas for Lucy. Swim goggles (they are just about disposable at the rate we lose them), sugar cereal, confetti poppers, and… wait for it… yes, a Polaroid camera. Nothing better than the instant satisfaction of a picture in hand.

I thought about it and decided this was something Kelly and I could look at together. I finished our walk and told myself I was going to come straight to the office and sit down and write. Kelly is getting her hair cut and colored for the next two hours, the dogs are at doggy daycare, and I have the house to myself – no distractions.

I came in the house and was on my way to the office when I needed to first check on Snicker, the tortoise. I mean, of course I need to do that. I then headed straight to the office. “Molly, you can do this, no distractions today. Do it,” I told myself. I sat my butt in the chair and opened the laptop… low battery. Shit! My charger is upstairs so I need to walk all the way through the fun house to get the charger. Oh, the Beast is testing me, I can do this.

I did do it. I walked upstairs, no stops, and right back to the office. I plugged in the laptop and the Firefox browser was already open. “I’ll just take a quick peek at Amazon,” I thought. Damn! So close. I caught myself and immediately closed the window. So, for today, not bad.

I decided to go with a writing prompt this morning and drew the card “Caught.” Tell us about a time your hand was in the cookie jar. Oh, I love this. So good.

John Mayer and The Double Doors

A quick story before I begin to tell my story of getting caught red-handed. Last night was date night and Kelly and I scored last-minute tickets to John Mayer. I’ve never been a huge fan, but always appreciated his music. And, there is something that has always struck me about him. I watched an interview when he was just reaching fame and there was something that struck me. Here was a guy doing it. He had a dream in high school to make it big and here he was actually doing it. I think he has always given me hope that it’s possible.

“I can’t wait ’til my 10-year reunion. I’m gonna bust down the double doors.” Yes, John, yes! Why has this always resonated so deeply with me? There is something inside of me that wants this story. I, too, want to bust down the double doors. It won’t be my 10-year reunion, next year will be my 30-year high school reunion… maybe 30-year reunion, maybe 40-year? I haven’t hit one yet, but if I rise above the lie, you bet I will be there absolutely busting down the double doors.

In The Ring

The opener for John Mayer didn’t impress me much. His love songs seemed like a miss for me and the way I used to view love. Maybe I once felt that longing and missing for the one, but today, I see it so much differently. I felt myself starting to judge him. “I don’t love it,” I thought. “He’s not as good as John Mayer. Why is he on stage?” I wondered.

And then I realized, he is on stage. He is playing for a packed crowd at the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville, TN. He is opening for John Fucking Mayer. Damn. He is doing it, he is busting down the double doors.

As I’ve thought more and more about my own dream of a published bestselling author, I’ve often wondered if I have what it takes. Could I be the book writer version of a John Mayer? Could I bust down the double doors? I don’t know. I’m still working on it. But my view on how to get there is rapidly changing.

I used to think you either have it or you don’t. You are a born star or you are just not. Kind of an all-or-nothing thing I guess. I’m seeing now there are a million things in between. I just spent a weekend at a writers retreat hosted by a Hay House author. Is she a John Mayer? Not quite, but she is doing it! She wrote a book that is out there. She is influencing and inspiring other writers. She is doing it. She is in the ring.

In The Arena

Everywhere I look I see books. Millions and millions of books. I see comic books, graphic novels, big books, short books, cookbooks, and the list goes on and on. Yes, a few of them hit best seller lists and become an Eat, Pray Love kind of success. But so many others are still out there making a w

orld of difference, maybe not to the world, but a world of difference to one or two, or twenty. How many would be enough? One, right? If we could make a difference for one person would it be worth it? Yes. Three Aces Yes, it would be worth it.

So, the point is that it’s not about having the perfect John Mayer bust down the double doors hit right out of the start gate, or ever having one. What matters is doing it, getting out there. Putting the words out there. Speaking. Singing. Dancing. The point is to get in the ring and do it. I can judge talent all I want. I can find things wrong with any piece of art, writing, or music but I don’t have much room to talk– because they are doing it. They are out there in the ring.

I want to throw my hat over the fence and get out there. I want to get the shit kicked out of me, exhausted, spent, bloody and given it my all. I want to do it. So, it starts with getting my butt in the chair and keeping the commitment to win the Beast each day and find myself in the chair. Today, I win. Today, I have words on the page.

All of that to start the prompt… cookie jar. When is a time I got busted and was caught red-handed? Not that long ago, maybe a week ago. And who busted me? My greatest teacher, Lucy.

We were all sitting down for dinner and I decided to put on a record. I love vinyl and hearing the sound of the needle hitting the record, that light skip and scratch. I love needing to get up and turn the record over. I fucking love the sound. All so great. And now I just remembered that I have the good speakers my nephew left that need to be hooked up. Oh, the Beast is calling me… trying to pull me away. No way Beast, not today.

So, I was getting ready to put on a record and Lucy called out, “Hey, can I pick the record?” I felt irritation rise. It seems every time I head over to put on a record she asks for her choice. We have just about worn out the Michael Jackson and Ariana Grande records. I have so many I love that never seem to make it on the player. Tonight I wanted to choose.

“No, it’s my turn tonight,” I said, feeling proud for speaking up for myself. I started to grab the Van Morrison record when Kelly called over, “Can you put on Brandi Carlisle?” Fuck. So close. I felt the irritation rise again. “When will it ever be my turn,” I wondered. “Sure,” I said. Putting my selection back and reaching for hers.

I felt a bit defeated, but still enjoyed listening to the record turn. Lucy looked over with me with a scowl on her face. “You hurt my feelings Molly,” she said so matter of factly? “What?” I thought. How on earth could I have just hurt her feelings when I didn’t even get to choose? “How?” I asked. “I asked if I could choose and you said no and then mom asked and you said yes,” she explained. “How come you say yes to her and no to me?” I was astounded. Busted, red-handed. She was so right. Why did I do this? The question wasn’t really that, not why did I say no to Lucy, but rather, why did I say yes to Kelly? Interesting.

I took one step toward myself in saying no to Lucy and having a boundary to hold that tonight would be my choice. But I quickly let it all go when Kelly asked. I was shocked at how blind I was to this. How many other times have I forsaken myself for Kelly? Sure, there is compromise and giving and generosity, of course. But there is the other side of that and giving too much away. There is the dangerous space of holding others more valuable than myself, more worthy than myself. Busted!

“Wow, you are so right Lucy,” I said. She seemed a bit stunned. “Yes, you are absolutely right that would indeed hurt your feelings. That is on me and I apologize. I’m sorry I did that,” I apologized. I started to see her soften as I got up to approach the record player. “Are you putting on Michael Jackson?” She asked. “Nope,” I said with pride, “Van Morrison!” Tonight, it was my turn and I owed it all to my greatest teacher to remind me that I too am worthy of a turn. Tonight… Into the Mystic. We all deserve a turn… especially you.