In Thirty Minutes

In thirty minutes I leave to meet up with fellow participants at the Stonecoast Writers’ Conference. Tonight is set aside for our first check in, registration, and a commencement address. I’m feeling intimidated, out of my league, jittery...very, very small. Two nights ago I returned from an eleven day road trip with my daughter, son, and husband. Although I was filled with anxiety prior to leaving on this adventure--for I am such a worrier--I lived in the moment during those days, soaking in the sights of the different locations we visited, taking stock of how nice most people are, even when they are strangers, and reminding myself often of the speed in which the days of our lives race by, faster than those city drivers who have escaped to the freeway and who seem to enjoy honking at our van when they spot the Maine license plates.

Since getting home, safe and sound, I find myself reflecting upon how funny life can be. How emotions can sneak up on you at the strangest of times, such as when I almost cried when trying to explain to a salesclerk that the new dress my daughter was wearing had a security tag that hadn’t been taken off the day before, or when it seems God has sent you an angel in the form of the big line-backer of a hotel desk clerk who takes one look at you and who listens to the story of your recent stay in a New York City closet of a hotel room, and then decides to upgrade you to a full on suite at the lowest rate he can give you. Or the friendly waiter who, more comfortable speaking Spanish than English, tries to give you the recipe for that salsa that your 12 year old boy is wolfing down in record time.

With thirty minutes to go before I throw on a sundress and a pair of sandals, taking a quick minute to measure my face in the mirror as I think of how poorly I’ve done with that promise to drop some pounds in the past month, I try to remind myself of how sweet it’s been of friends to tell me that I’ll do great at this week of writing, and of how my husband reminded me of the importance of being confident and proud of who I am and the silliness of thinking I need to be anything different. Taking to heart this morning’s homily at Mass, it’s time for me to shake off the dust on my shoes if I should meet anyone who discounts my voice or what I have to say. It’s time for me to be open to the blessings this week will present to me, for I know there will be many. It’s time to smile at that reflection in the mirror, extra pounds, new wrinkles and all, and to have courage to continue my journey, not only as a writer, but as little ol’ worry wart, emotional, hopeful, anxious, excited, jittery, but also beautiful-in-my-own-skin me.