This morning, as I was doing my training run of about three miles through suburban neighborhood streets, I passed two women walking two small dogs. I greeted them with my usual cheery “Good morning!” as I ran past, but they were talking and didn’t seem to hear me.
Off I went, focused on my pace and my breathing, down to Walnut Avenue and around the smaller blocks. When I started heading back toward home, I passed one of them again. The smaller one with a large mop of dark hair was also heading back -- but this time she was jogging. It was clearly something new for her. She ran irregularly, head down, hair flopping, bent over, the way I feel when I’m gasping for air at high elevation as I follow my son up some insane rock wall.
“Good morning!” I sent another greeting from my side of the small street to hers.
Her head bobbed up instantly and a broad smile lit her face.
“You inspired me!” she shouted, and ran on past, still smiling.
Wow.
I smiled all the way home.
When I left for my run this morning, I felt anything but inspiring. The rock climbing I’d done in Yosemite the previous weekend with my son, Alex Honnold, had left me drained, exhausted, feeling feeble all week (he can exhaust anybody!). I’d dragged myself off to class all week (I was still teaching at the community college), dragged home, done nothing but cope. I napped, I ate copiously and gradually my energy came back. Today’s run was the test: were my reserves refilled enough to fuel a run?
And then, unbeknownst to me, I passed a woman ready to be inspired. Maybe jogging or running had never occurred to her. Maybe she had lots of kids and was overwhelmed with chores and never had time. Maybe she’d been told all her life, “you’re not the athletic type.” Maybe she was at a pivotal point in her life and needed an outlet of some kind, something physical, someone to show her she could. Lots of maybe’s. That’s the thing about inspiring; we never know who, out there, is ready. Who will see what we do, or say, or write, and be at the right crossroads in their life for it to matter.
We never know.
What better reason to keep writing? You just never know who might need your words, or who might just enjoy them, or need to be uplifted or who might need a laugh or a cry. You just never know.
So for that one person out there who needs to read this, or see it, or think about it -- for them, I’ll continue to send out these thoughtletters.
Our goal here is simple, and my daughter put it perfectly succinctly in her blog -- to talk to each other, to learn from each other. And maybe, if we’re lucky, to enrich each other’s experience and maybe to inspire someone to consider something they never thought of before.
I can’t think of a better, loftier goal!
Love this idea! Thank you, Dierdre, for the inspiration.