The universe is speaking.
Just had one of those Peloton workouts that wring sweat out of every pore, bringing forth the aromas of everything I've put in my body the last forty-eight hours. The kind of sweat that makes you glad you're alone because the funk is so embarrassing.
And I was singing.
More on that later.
It's been a prolific week. Lots of fine sentences and pretty words. A full immersion into history that makes it dangerous for me to drive a car for at least an hour after getting up from the desk because I'm emotionally living in a different place and time. I usually read fiction at the end of the day to cleanse the palate and recharge. But sometimes, when you're writing a lot of words, even reading a simple spy thriller can feel overwhelming. When I'm sick of reading it means I'm drinking out of a fire hose.
So it is that I came to Friday feeling both successful and deeply in need of inspiration. We had a big cross country race that morning and the teams ran well. That gave me a nice boost. Race day is hard on coaches because it's the only time we don't control the action. Success or failure is out of our hands. It's a vulnerable feeling but also gratifying when everyone shows the depth of their training and personal fortitude by giving their best. Friday was such a day. Got a little misty when I told the teams how proud I was of them. I'm an emotional guy. No one was surprised. Chalk it up to being a creative type.
That was the first voice from the universe, bringing me back from the depths of being overwhelmed. Then came Friday night and a trip to the theater to see Les Miserables. The first time Callie and saw this chestnut was thirty years ago and I know the soundtrack by heart. Surprisingly, the production felt fresh, thanks to some subtle creative changes. Eponine, played by Christine Heesun Hwang, took my breath away with "On My Own." I walked into the theater thinking Callie and I were having a nice date night and walked out thinking about that novel I've been talking about.
So, the race, the show... and then pizza. Of all things, pizza. Went to Ballpark to pick up dinner. The place was packed with Pop Warner and AYSO families so I sat outside to wait for our to-go order. A group of either nerds or youth pastors — I couldn't tell which — stood off to the side. Chatty. Excited. They weren't drinking beer and I saw no sign of pizza, which made me curious. I opened my book (yep, I felt the need to read again). Then those crazy geeks began singing. A capella. Beautifully, Wow. I smiled at the universe and knew for certain I was being spoon-fed random doses of inspiration.
Back to this morning's spin. Jenn Sherman taped a ride featuring Bruce Springsteen songs about a month ago. I've never gotten around to it. But this morning I wanted something new. You know, inspiration. It did not disappoint.
Sherman not only played the music while teaching the class, but also talked about her own experiences as a Springsteen fan — most of which I can relate to. I loved when she talked about how getting tickets to a show used to mean sitting in a parking lot all night, rain or shine, in a long line of fellow fans waiting for a wristband. I had more than a few of those nights. Slowly, thinking back on my own experiences, I was overcome by nostalgia. I thought of the many shows since my first back in 1980. Thought of proposing to Calene with a line borrowed from “The River.” Missed my mom. And when Sherman closed with “Badlands,” my anthem, I sang along and pumped my fist in the air. While riding a spin bike. Alone in the bedroom we're turning into an exercise room. While sweating like a pig. I'm not as labile as I sound. Promise.
Then I came downstairs and wrote this blog. Normally, I don't get around to this until late Sunday afternoon. It's just after 10 am now. I am awash in inspiration. Ready for the week to come. Best of all, that novel I've set aside is talking to me again, telling me it needs time in my writing day.
Thank you, universe.