days, the woman peering back at me in the mirror has been limping around the house, doing chores, and moving from room to room with her laptop and editing projects. I adjust the ice pack on my shoulder then flip off the bathroom light. Time to hobble to bed for an early movie and some sleep. A Jane Austen flick, two pain relievers, and this trusty ice pack are just what I need. Morale is as high as ever, but I’m not used to this amount of exercise and physical work. The gym session the other night was one of the hardest yet.
My goal was to hit the gym at least three times this week, but I’m going to need another day of rest, if not two. Just to stay active, I might work in some extra at-home stretching and a few walks. Even if I can’t practice on any more boulders, at least I know the rules and what to do. I know the basics and how to get off the ground. I know how and where to push myself. That’s what matters. Actually, what matters most is that I’ve had some of the most fun I can ever recall having.
I’ve found a hobby I love, made friends that inspire me, and gotten out of the house instead of moping around, wishing Mr. Right could at least be a UPS man so I’d have a guy to talk to. I’ve gained fresh layers of independence, confidence, and even dignity. I think back to shutting out Seth’s number. The Sadie from a few months ago might have been more fragile. More desperate. But not now. Gaining more confidence and purpose are rewards that will last a lifetime. I have everything to be grateful for and right now everything to gain.
Hmm . . . another article idea?
I manage a smile through the ache as I shift the ice pack to my right forearm. Work is done for the day so I scroll to the latest version of Pride & Prejudice. Soon, I’ll sleep and dream of all the good memories I’ve had, and the memories yet to be made. Who knows what will come next? I could write an entire novel on the blessings I’ve received and the ways God has been stretching my perspective.
Speaking of novels, I still haven’t sent the chapters to Britt, so I slide my laptop close and load them into a fresh email.
If you get any extra reading time. No hurry! Would love your thoughts at some point. Hugs!
After the movie, I fall asleep that night and somehow dream of Mr. Darcy climbing a V7 at the gym. He lost his top hat on a steep overhang, but he was pretty studly. I wake with a laugh in my heart and a melted ice pack. Not to mention, a little more energy. Since I’ve committed to another day of rest, I focus on drafting up another chapter of my novel idea. Which fortunately does not include Mr. Darcy at the climbing gym. But I do want it to have that kind of laughter and even imagination.
While checking emails, there’s a response from Britt. She writes back in all caps that she’s begun the first chapter and I see “LOVE IT.”
Really?
I scoop Calypso up. Snuggling her close, we do a happy dance all the way to the coffee machine. While the coffee gurgles to life, I froth some milk and pop two frozen waffles into the toaster. Fresh sliced strawberries, a pat of butter and drizzle of syrup, and I’m back at the table. A fresh latte steams beside me and my laptop when the phone rings.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Good morning, honey. Your mom and I watched a documentary on a mountain climber last night. It was great. Very exciting.”
Then I hear her voice beside him. “Ask her if she’s thinking about climbing El Capitan without a rope like that Free Solo fella.” Before my dad has a chance to relay the message, she leans closer to the earpiece. “You’re not going to do that, are you, honey?”
I laugh as their dog Yoyo yips in the background. “No, Mom. I’m not going to climb one of the hardest routes in history without a rope. If it’s any comfort, I haven’t even used the auto belays at the gym yet.” Though putting on a harness and clipping into a rope is still on my bucket list. Hopefully there will be a class for that coming up soon.
“Well, just make sure you stay safe.”
I smile again. “I promise I will.”
Her voice is so clear now, she must have taken the phone. “And oh, I saw your article online this morning. It was lovely.”
That’s right. It’s publication day. I totally spaced. At the mental cringe, I have to force myself to be positive. It was an article I’d worked hard on, one that will hopefully bless a lot of readers, and it’s nothing to hang my head about. “Thank you, Mom. And say, I’ve been wanting to tell you more about that.” Deep . . . breath . . . “That is actually the last article I’m writing for the magazine.”
“Oh, sweetie. I thought it might be something like that.”
She did? Relief pours down. I guess I did tip her off to some coming changes on the writing front.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
I do. I really do. I wish I hadn’t held the news from her for so long. I jump in, explaining some of the reasons it just didn’t feel right anymore. No sense getting too deep into the ideas for future articles, but I let her know that I’ve already submitted one to another magazine. Also, that I’ve been hard at work on editing projects, which is keeping me nice and busy on the work front. “I’m also dabbling on a novel idea all my own.”
“It sounds like a lot has been happening.”
“It has, and I think it’s been time.”
She asks more questions about the process. I can tell she’s not fully convinced this is all a good idea—and frankly, I’m not either. But it’s nice to have a listening ear as well as her insight that sometimes these things take time to unfold.
“You’ll know what the right thing is,” she adds.
“I hope so.”
“And I’m proud of you for being open and honest about what hasn’t been working. Sometimes it’s the first steps that can be the hardest. Oh, and we still have your competition day on the calendar. We’re leaving today to housesit for Janice and Russ, but we’ll do everything we can to make it.”
“Thank you. Don’t feel pressured if it ends up being too much.” Russ and Janice live three hours from here. It would be a huge inconvenience for my parents to drive back and forth multiple times in only a few days. “But thanks for trying. I hope you and Dad have a great time in Breckenridge. Send me lots of pics.”
“We sure will. Oh, and your father wants to know what you want from the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.”
My dad never forgets to bring me goodies. I place an order for milk chocolate-covered pretzels, and with thoughts of the newly-published article in mind, wish them a great trip again. After a final reassurance to my mom that I’m going to be safe, we say goodbye.
My heart is so light now that I don’t want to dampen the moment by pulling up the article. But it’s tradition to see what the finished product looks like on publication day. Besides, this will be the last time I get to do this with the magazine I spent three years with.
Clicking to the magazine’s website, I find the section that holds my column and open the page. There it is. The article spreads to life across the screen. The stock photo the designers added looks stunning. The article scrolls in a neat block of text beside a star-studded sky. Below the night sky sits a couple on a hay bale. Pumpkins are piled all around them and they look adorable in flannel shirts and boots. The man kisses her cheek while she smiles at the camera. Sweet. The flannel couple snuggles close, while others around them roast s’mores. They’re probably the family that the woman just introduced her new boyfriend to. Exactly what the article describes.
I blow out a slow sigh.
It looks beautiful. I scroll the cursor lower to where my name stretches across the bottom of the screen. I soak in the sight for a few moments, saying goodbye to what was and what will be no more. I peel my gaze away from the happy couple and say a small prayer that this article will bless those who read it. That it might encourage and inspire them somehow. Even if it wasn’t written for a single woman like me. Before melancholy can further settle in, I close the article and open my latest Word document. Time to get back to typing fresh thoughts onto the page . . . lessons and experiences that are now making up the novel of my heart.