My sister Nancy claims she's directionally handicapped. When she goes to a new place, she always needs step-by-step directions, with lots of landmarks, and even then she's nervous. She doesn't trust her gut or her ability to follow a map.
And yet, when we go walking in her woods, Nancy leads the way. She's got that intricate network of trails and grassy roads completely mapped out in her head. While many of us know which back streets to take during rush hour, Nancy knows just which path to take if you want to miss the dogs, see the wildflower that just started blooming yesterday, or avoid the washed-out footbridge.
I must admit, I share some of Nancy's angst about directions. And today I drove to Greenville, a city I'm not familiar with, to walk in the park and have lunch with an old family friend. I got up this morning and came straight to the computer, printing out the directions he had emailed me, as well as double-checking both Google and Mapquest for all the places I wanted to go. First stop: Falls Park.
Sitting in the driveway before I left home, I pulled out all my notes and realized I'd printed out directions to every possible destination from every possible starting point . . . except from home to Falls Park. But I also realized that it didn't matter. I had collected enough information, I knew basically where I wanted to go, and I could follow the signs and my instincts. If I made a few wrong turns, I'd probably see things I would've missed otherwise. I did. And I did.
I've been feeling some impatience (already!) about my book process. I'm wanting to know what the shape of it will be, how the pieces will fit together to tell the story. But it's too soon to know.
I need to trust the process, which is just what I did this morning: collect enough information to have a general sense of where I'm heading, follow the signs and my intuition, and be willing to explore some wrong turns.
When I get there--like today--it'll be better if I've enjoyed the ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment