The season of giving
“He doesn’t want a snack!”
The little girl screamed at me when I didn’t take one from
their box.
A lot of people are putting out water and treats in boxes by
their front door for delivery drivers.
Two little girls put out a box and watched through the door
as they waited.
They hovered while I walked up.
“We made a snack for you,” they said.
I was tired. I was sore. I felt like a huddled mass. Lady
Liberty would be the only woman who loved me.
“I’ll get one next time,” I said without thinking.
I didn’t really feel like a snack.
A hot bath. A full body rub down. Something cold to drink.
Yes.
Just not gushers.
The youngest blinked back tears.
So I took the gushers.
And gushed a lot of thank you’s.
The smiles were worth it.
They waved as we drove off.
“You should wear a santa hat next week,” the driver said.
He’s a nice guy. Thirty years on the job at UPS.
I told him I worked there in college and for a few years
after.
“Are you glad you left?”
I wondered.
In that time, I have pitched and sold scripts to Hollywood.
Owned a gym.
Owned a driving range.
Worked in sales and worked my way up to a low level exec.
I’ve managed big teams, and beat down doors.
Dug ditches (literally doing ground work for a new
subdivision for sewer and electric lines.)
Rehabbed houses and sold them.
Worked as a television camera man.
Owned a marketing company.
Own a publishing company and make money telling stories.
I wonder if I would trade all of that for a solid, long,
steady career.
I don’t think so.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out to do it.
My mom said I had too much traveler in me.
A hundred years ago, I might have been a pioneer.
I get the urge to GO once a week.
Get a van, put a bed in the back and just explore a whole
continent.
When I was making my list of what I’d like to do next year,
there’s a trek to Base Camp Everest that takes 14 days I’ve had on my list for
a few years.
I wouldn’t take the summit, but get to the crowded bottom of
the scree field. Drink tea with yak butter. Bow in front of a prayer flag.
Or wake up in the desert in Utah and go running.
Most of the places I want to go don’t involve big cities
packed with people.
It’s trails and sweat and sounds of nature. You might say I like it dirty!
You know what I think about when I’m out there running?
It starts with stories. Writing. Things I’d like to say and
do.
And it always ends with snacks. What I’d like to eat, what I’m
craving. What I’m going to eat.
Ten miles in, I’ll be regretting not picking up the cookie
from the box.
Cheers,
Chris
PS.
Don’t forget
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