Found Myself In The Exit Row

The last time I was on a plane headed to Atlanta, I was told by the man I had not been talking to the entire time that I had a great personality #EarHustlin. But that (like everything else) is just another, other, otha post, that I already wrote. Eventually I’ll post it.

I am Atlanta bound again. Actually, I have not been Atlanta bound since the last time I was Atlanta bounded with personality. Another pit stop today, on my way to some old me I’d like I to know again. And tonight, I am seated next to a man. And we have been chatting it up.

He was, or seemed, rather surprised by my handshake. I pulled ole boy at the introduction #GeishaFlow. Too bad he got me first though. Dragging my overstuffed purple DVF bag to my exit row seat that did not recline, he immediately sprung up, collected my suitcase, and through the magic of astrophysics and chivalry made room for it in the overhead compartment.

One day I'll write my life & maybe save it in the process

I did not even know his name. Just his seat number. But we are totally friends now. He is clearly a gentleman, and I’ve got an impressive handshake. I guess people don’t do that anymore. Shake hands. Did I live long enough to become old school? Damn.

Anyway. He’s married. Two kids – boys. A career that keeps him on the go, and the kindest disposition ever. Kind. I met a very kind man. It has been a while since that too.

And I kinda thought he was meeting me. But as the conversation continued, I wondered if maybe this was that next lifetime Erykah assured me we’d be flying around in. You know, the one where we would be exit row buddies? I mean, he knows me. Like really. Knows. Me. Eeek!!!!

20D: Your five year goal is to become a writer. You’re going to be famous one day. A New York Bestseller!

Me: *he’s been drinkin...been drinkin* Now that’s a dream… But I’m not sure. All of the great writers I’ve read in my time?! I don’t know about that one.

20D: The really great writers all believed that about themselves at one point. #healthyhumility

                                    *conversation continues*

Me: I just want to be happy…I mean, I want to be successful, and achieve great things, but having a family and being happy is enough. More than enough.

           

20D: That’s a great title for a book. You should write one.

Me: I kinda did, actually…you know, write a book. If I ever try again, that’ll be the title. Something tells me I will always remember this day, this moment. #AWomanOfMyWord  #RichardDavis

           

20D: And I’ll remember you. I’ll say, I met her.

Maybe he should say that he inspired her. Or motivated her. Or pushed her? Challenged? Encouraged? Yea, he did that too. Just get a thesaurus and check mark them all.

He did that. He also said this:

1. You are sharp.
2. You don’t sleep much. Your mind is always working, always going.
3. You have trouble meeting men and making connections. You’re an eagle. Don’t cluck.
4. You set goals and HAVE to achieve them. You don’t see anything else. 
5. You will be a famous writer one day.

Even in the presence of #3, #5 stings the most. Mostly because of what he said next. Burnt me. He said, “You’re not worried that you’ll fail, you’re afraid you’ll succeed.” Get that thesaurus back out because I’m terrified and a whole host of other adjectives.

It burns because I want it sooooo bad. Problem being, I’m not “sooooo good” yet. What’s holding me back besides me? Nothing really. *excuse alert* it’s just that I have read so many great writers, great writers, who are exceptional thinkers. You have to be what they’ve been to me. I don’t know that I do what they do. They have written words, in the same sentences, that have caused a physiological reaction in my ocular cavities. I had to fill them with klennex. Words printed on a page that moved me to travel miles to mend relationships I didn’t even break. I don’t do that. I don’t write that way. I don’t know how.

My truth isn’t that compelling. Is it?

And just when I had myself convinced that I was a writer, I kinda stopped believing. Journey is going to be sooooo pissed at me.

But I kinda have to believe him. This man read me. Read. Me. Right. He’s turning 49 this year. He’s a runner. He’s got a race coming up. Six minutes stand between him and his eternal glory – finishing under an hour. He’s going to pound a hole so hard in the pavement at the finish line, they’ll have to repave the whole state of Georgia. I always believe (in) runners.

In order to continue believing I’m a writer, here’s what 20D says I have to do:

1. Stop Clucking. Mostly because Eagles don’t cluck. Leave the chicken at Popeye’s honey chile (keep that strawberry soda! lawd, it's everything!). Have a little more faith. Your “somebody’s son” is on the way. He probably runs too. Like wants to run, with you.

  

    2. Success Is A Silly Fear. Be Brave Fool! Hold up. Is he about to tell me what TR is always saying? #DoItAfraid. Yup. He is. Write a book. A for real one. And stop calling the real one you wrote “kinda”. Get over it. Embrace it. You wrote a book. Now that I’ve typed this, success does sound like a dumb thing to be afraid of. #ugh

    3. Cute & Attractive Are 2 VERY Different Things. Multitask! You are both. So you need to be both. And more than that, you need to know the difference. Despite what you have been told and read, they are not the same. You need to stop making these words interchangeable. The thesaurus you are using is outdated.

And then we left.

:::::::::: just a lingering thought (they do that often, linger)::::::::::

Talkin’ Chess… 20D and I, as you know, talked about me having a male best friend. He asked if we had ever considered each other. I told him the truth. No. Nope, not even that one time we were drunk (not really a time…just an expression)… I needed a best friend. I’ll just be here waiting for a (best) lover. He said he couldn’t have a female best friend. Cause men hunt. That made me think of someone #RLS in particular I wanted more than a friendship with. I am not sure if there is still hope. Probably not. Chess, maybe? #whomovesfirst