Respecting your natural ability and your never evers.

So an extreme runner, a baker, and a writer walk in to a dinner party…

I didn’t even know there was such a thing as “extreme runners”. IronMen, yes, but extreme runners? People who run like, ONE HUNDRED MILES at a time. In a day. Over the course of 12 to 24 hours. Without, like, DYING. I listened to the runner’s personal story, absolutely riveted. When I picked my jaw up off the table, I pummeled him with questions. How do you feel after a race like that, How long to train, How do you push through, What about injuries, How long have you been this insane?

And I think to myself: Never, never, ever. I have no concept of what that natural ability feels like.

And then came dessert.

A sixtroopled layered meringue masterpiece. Layers of cakey meringue propped up with gorgeous goopy lemon curd and fluffy whipped white goodness whispering out of the tiers of scrumptiousness. Blessed with raspberries. And mint leaves. Placed on a heavy ceramic white rectangular platter. Sprinkled with edible fairy dust. I thought the co-hostess was joking when she said that she made it herself. I swear to the Gods of confectionery pleasure, this is what went through my head: It would be easier for me to build a bridge than to bake that mother. I was mystified.

And I think to myself: Never, never, ever. I have no concept of what that natural ability feels like.

Then the conversation turned to writing. And the dinner guests say kind things about what I do, how I string words together. And without being smug (one of my least favorite human dispositions), I softly say that, Ya, it comes easily to me. Pure delight. And someone says something like, “I could never write as easily as you. Nope. Never.”

And it occurs to me that we each have our delicious natural joys and our Never, never, evers.

And how beautiful that is.

 

 

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