Out of the Ordinary

"What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know. Something amazing, I guess."

I was having a conversation with myself this week. I talk to myself frequently. Don't worry, I'm not crazy, I'm just great company. The topic of the conversation was based upon a ridiculous number of unfinished poems and deleted blog posts that have been accumulating in the last 7 days. It's a little tragic to admit the amount of written material that has been left incomplete or erased permanently. It's not that I haven't had things to say or ideas for new poetry. Nope! I just haven't been able to write in a way that pleased me. I'd struggle to write the second stanza of a poem or reread my thoughts and deem them base and uninspiring.

In the middle of my conversation I realized that I was comparing my recent work to the highlights of my past creativity. Every new poem was compared to a classic "Esther", and every blog post was compared to my favorite to date, "Pennies and Paperclips." Nothing new could compare. After 7 days of struggling to write something I liked I decided I'd better just wait for the next amazing thing to happen so I'd be able to write a hall of fame piece. As soon as I arrived at that determination I started laughing at myself.

A quick side note - it is very good to be able to laugh at yourself. If you haven't laughed at yourself recently I urge you to look for a reason to laugh at something you say, think, or do. You'll find yourself laughing a lot.

Now back on track, why was I laughing this time? Let's just say that the timing in my life is spot on. Even as I was quoting The Incredibles to myself, justifying my inaction, I was reminded of a blog post I had written and deleted not 3 days earlier.

The premise of that post was pretty simple. I had an experience that showed me how it's not the amazing things that make up the bulk of our delightful experiences and happy memories. It's really just the simple, plain, out of the ordinary things that keep us going and make life a surprise.

I'll illustrate. A couple of weeks ago I went on an 18 mile trail ride with my friend. We were going for a limited distance endurance ride. The goal was to travel a nearby trail from our hometown to the city five cities over. Sometimes we rode on the foothills of the mountains, other times we traveled through neighborhoods riding on quiet streets. The round trip was intended to be 32 miles, but we didn't make it that far. Blame the hot sun. Our turnaround point was a friend's house in the suburbs near the trail. As we made our way there, walking our horses slowly through the streets I was surprised by the excitement we caused. I guess the folks in that city don't see many horses on roads. I still remember the cries of "Emmeline! Emmeline! Come look at the trail!" or the boy on his bike who was racing up a street yelling, "Horse! Horse! Horse!" Then there was the toddler on a balcony with her dad who waved and waved as we walked by. I definitely felt like a rodeo queen. Perhaps the most impactful words came from the girl on a family bike ride who watched us pass by within 5 feet. She looked at us in awe and said, "I've never been this close to a horse before." Then she sighed and remarked, "I wish I were on that horse."

Those comments, along with a host of other compliments and brief conversations with those we passed made me rethink the way I look at horseback riding. In my world, two horses on a trail are fairly routine. But listening to those children, hearing in their voices that this was the most exciting moment of the day, reminded me of when I was a girl. Years before I'd even considered taking riding lessons I had watched horses ride by and yearned to be a part of that experience. I knew what my dream horse looked like, and of course, I knew her name. Every horse I passed in my car was assessed for its potential to be my horse someday. Years went by and my dream became a reality, but in a different way than I anticipated. I'd suddenly become the people I'd watched and envied as a girl. Perhaps even inspiring some other girl to dream about her first ride on a horse.

Amazing things... well, they're unpredictable. You're just as likely to run into tragic amazing experiences as you are to enjoy happy amazing things. But! The out of the ordinary? Well, that's in your hands. In my world, the out of the ordinary is incredibly easy to find. Anything that surprises me and makes me pause for a moment is out of the ordinary. On my walk last week it was the smell of lilacs blowing from a hidden location across the street. The joy came in the amazing scent as well as the investigative search to find the source. Out of the ordinary comes in a fun play on words or a particularly thrilling rhyme. I find it in textures in the world around me. My secret hobby is watching the road as I drive (not the road that involves the cars in front of me, but the road outside my drivers side window). If I look carefully I can see different patterns in the asphalt. Out of the ordinary things are built out of watching the unbelievable construction techniques used when building a local riding arena. I even consider it out of the ordinary when I laugh at myself and realize what a delightful idiot I am.

Sure, my first dance, first kiss, first day at college, and first gallop on a horse were amazing. But I don't think they'll ever mean as much to me as unexpected friendships, the joy of success, and pleasure of improving my skill. I treasure the thrill of racing against time to place a work order, random conversations with my amazing cousin, the feel of dirt under my fingernails, and the taste of unsweetened birthday cakes (a precursor to a joyful bout of laughter with my family). On the outside these things may look stressful, routine, inconvenient, or qualify as culinary tragedies. On the inside, these out of the ordinary experiences make up the woodwork of my life. They're the moments I live for, look for, and work for.

Joy, for me, isn't found in a once and done amazing experience. It's found in laughing at every experience. I'm beginning to recognize that this optimism is a gift. My ability to smile about and let go of the negative is something I take for granted most of the time. With a firm belief that everything works out I look at every experience and recognize that there's something out of the ordinary going on in my life. I dream, live, and work, and all the heartbreaks heal, the pain passes, and comfort comes. A great life starts small. With a smile, a hug, a compliment. A great life comes out of the ordinary. And I'm not waiting for it, I'm living it.