Maybe the world is always our oyster but some days feel like you’ve been granted the secret password needed to reveal its inlaid treasure. Lately, for me, not only has the oyster been gently opening at the hinges, by golly, it’s got two pearls inside!
If I’d been suspecting that I was right there in the pocket – feeling tight, life and I – then all was confirmed at the Department of Motor Vehicles on Friday. Rock star parking led right to an empty line inside. Within five minutes I had paid my annual registration and was back out in the tropical sunshine, moving forward with the day.
More mundane tasks ensued with efficiency and ease. Costco mission complete in twenty minutes (they opened up a register just for me!). Ultrasound appointment done in no time (they won’t tell you a thing of what they see) by a big and beautiful African woman who hummed a sweet song while taking pictures of my womb. I was crossing off my to-do list efficiently, swift like an arrow on course through the maze of downtown. My iPod was on shuffle, the soundtrack of life in my ears. John Mayer singing “The Heart of Life is Good,” and it was easy to concur.
Back home in cyberspace my email Inbox reveals more cosmic winks. For those of you following the Archives, remember those boot advertisements in the side bar of my email screen? These days they’ve changed. They’ve been replaced by airfare promotions now. First stop? Vegas. Perhaps I’m on a winning streak that’s worth a gamble.
The ultimate affirmation comes at day’s end, straight from Nature, when I stepped out my front door and my friend, the White-Rumped Shama gave a wolf whistle from his nearby perch. I’ve heard plenty of his songs, but I’ve never heard that one from him before. You know the call. That emotive sound of approval perfected by crass construction workers. I’ll post the sample here (click ‘wolf whistle‘), but it can’t compare to the melodious beauty of hearing those notes flow from the throat of a songbird.
I know I mentioned the other day in my Sunrise Reserves in the Kimono that life doesn’t roll out the red carpet. That we must carve it out ourselves. But maybe that’s not always true. There are times when we can ease into some sweet spot. Find some perfect groove where Providence has roped off our course, allowing for easy entry.
courtesy of Tomomarusan
I’m following that unfurling crimson runner toward the rare, double-pearled oyster, while birds whistle affirmation in my wake. No need to question. Just be grateful, stay open and say yes.
About six years ago, my good friend gifted me a fantastic pair of boots. Solid in dark brown leather, they zipped up to my ankles, keeping my feet dry in the wettest time of year on Kauai and warm during my annual winter trip to California. These were Doc Martens, the brand of the long-standing European shoe manufacturer known for a signature look and their substantial footwear.
courtesy of Doc Marten's
The thing that was unique about these boots was that they didn’t look like Doc Martens. The round toe and high, thick rubber sole so commonly associated with their style had been replaced by a streamlined shoe that looked more like a moccasin than industrial footwear. Where typical Docs could easily handle the weight of a 200 pound man all day in the warehouse, this version looked more like they were ready to go skipping through Sherwood Forest with a quiver of arrows. Still solid in their design, they just looked softer. They were perfect, except for the fact that they were ankle boots.
Really, they’re an ideal height for tropical living and the few weeks a year that this climate supports them being worn at all. But it’s the knee-high version (which I discovered did exist) that would be ideal for riding side-saddle through ancient trees or scaling mountain paths in search of the Holy Grail (or at least some good writing material).
There’s just something about a pair of boots that go all way up to your knees. You’re covered, snug, secure. Footsteps feel even more grounded. You’re wearing boots. Now anything is possible on this path.
The last time I had a pair of knee highs was when I was seven years old. They were in style then (just as they have reappeared in fashion as of late) and I loved them so much I would tuck my jeans inside so as to showcase them in all their vinyl glory. I still can recall coming out of Yamaha piano lessons with my mom. It was night and we were walking back to the car in the parking lot and I was wearing boots. In that moment, I felt like anything was possible – I felt strong – my feet were solid on the ground. I felt my little seven-year old self touch some kind of power that was beyond seven years. Of course it wasn’t sourced in my Payless Shoe Store boots. But they were reminding me with every step about something within. Something that I was just in the early stages of sensing.
Since I was gifted those ankle boots six years ago, together, we have seen some miles. We’ve danced on sticky bar room floors, climbed to mountain vistas and walked city streets. I know I’ve fallen in love at least twice in those things. Recently the sole began to give way and separate from the leather. I’ve thought about the old-school shoe repair guy in Lihue where I could find out if they could be fixed. But I’ve never let go of the idea of the knee-high version. Thirty years after that parking lot moment in my boots, isn’t it time I got a new pair?
It was about six months ago that I decided to make my investment. Fueled by this vision of myself wandering through Europe, I could vividly see my steps meandering in these boots. I thought that if I bought the boots, the vision would be fueled. Step one (pardon the pun) towards bringing my fantasy into the physical. I thought it would be simple to go online and buy them but the search was futile. Over the course of a few weeks, I would periodically resume my search, finding many stores that offered them but not in my size.
Even the Doc Marten company did not have the boot available. The only place I could find the style and size was at their European location, which meant a huge cost in shipping that I just couldn’t bear to pay. It seemed my knee-high boot dream would remain an elusive symbol, the time not yet right to set foot on my travel path. I resolved that if those boots ever did materialize, it would be a harbinger of coming one remote step closer to packing my bags and stepping on a plane.
I hadn’t thought about the boots in a while. It was late afternoon on Easter Sunday and Jeb and I were digesting our meal, spending a little mellow time at home. As I checked my emails an advertisement for boots came on the sidebar (they know their target audience, to be sure). Just for fun, I checked again, fully expecting they would only have the typical odd sizes not fitted to my feet. I found myself on Doc Marten’s website and within seconds there were the boots in UK5, Euro38, US7. Those were my boots (and they came with free shipping).
courtesy of Doc Marten's
Ignoring all reason that these were not a seasonably wise purchase for my current locale (especially with summer coming on) I persevered and input my shipping information – these boots were 30 years in coming! I could see us disembarking from the plane onto foreign soil as I typed. All points had brought us to this moment and within two days, Doc Marten said they would be shipped right to my doorstep. I’d figure out my archery practice later, this was the simple beginning…
With the ‘purchase’ button clicked and the confirmation email in my inbox, the rest is up to fate. There is still the possibility they may not be all I’ve hoped for. There’s that chance they just won’t fit. Either way, most likely, you dear reader, will hear all about it. Until then, my boots and I are walking through rocky seaside villages and pausing to lean against thick-barked tree trunks. If only in my mind.
When you say you will submit to the submission process, it means you gotta give in all the way. Surrender to the entire spectrum. Sometimes things don’t go the way you’d envisioned and that’s just part of the experience.
I read somewhere about a writer that kept a little monument by his desk of all of his “rejection” letters. They were his trophies, a testament to the process.
So I’ll post here to the world, the evidence of my writer’s journey. My marker in the road. I wouldn’t be holding a letter saying ‘thank you and best of luck’ unless I’d taken steps onto the publishing path. There’s rich value in the act of trying, living fully, taking the chance that I might not “win” or be received. This aspect of the artist’s path is what inspires me the most.
Ok, maybe I’m trying to put a happy spin on something that simply is a bummer. Everyone wants the prize (and the grand winner of this contest gets five grand!). But truthfully, I’m not deterred. I truly feel the value in the experience of writing. Feeling. Creating. Expressing. Sharing. Who knows if anyone ‘gets’ it or even cares. Yet something compels me.
By submitting, there is a surrender. A release. No longer hoarding it in a journal on my shelf, this process completes the circle through the risk of sharing. My ultimate hope is that it would inspire you to express yourself fully and freely – no matter if your creation were judged to be a winner or a loser. The winning is in the doing of it! If there are bonus perks at the end (being able to afford to travel and write more would be nice) then bring it on.
Until then, I’ve got more submissions circulating and I’ll embrace my ‘best of luck’ letter as a blessing.
So best of luck to every soul that didn’t get what they thought they wanted. And more power to the amazing things that awaited them instead – rewards of which they hadn’t even dreamed.
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