Simplicity by Sunny

I met a man six months ago and instantly fell in love.  Well, I sort of met him. 

I spend an unnatural amount of time in bookstores.  Reading a book, while being surrounded by books – vanilla latte steaming to the right, biscotti stacked to the left - is the exact environment I hope heaven to be.  Considering my sins, however, I’m willing to settle for an exceptionally toasty library and a pot of Folgers.  Sinning requires flexibility in your after-death expectations.

During a Saturday afternoon at Barnes & Noble, I was sipping my vanilla frothiness while reading about Bill the Vampire à la Charlaine Harris.  Then I glanced up and saw him.

His faded tee-shirt advertised Bolder Boulder 2009.  His jeans, once dark, were worn at the knees.  His dark hair was slightly disheveled, like he’d been driving with the windows down.  There was a rough 5 o’clock shadow on his chin.  His eyes were framed by crinkles, indicating a smiley nature.  He wore sneakers, one shoelace broken.  As he slid into an overstuffed chair, he sighed and grinned, clearly content to be in a bookstore on a lazy Saturday.

In other words, he was Sunny’s version of the male pin-up.

He looked like a camping-and-hiking kinda guy.  Unafraid of hooking a worm or drinking Fat Tire.  But he also had a polite demeanor as indicated by the elegant crossing of his legs, avoiding the more common feet-on-table lounging position, and I felt confident that he wasn’t the type to burp in public or order drinks on a first date with the word “sex” in it.  Then his hands cracked open the book in his lap, and I finally noticed the title.  It was a cookbook on Italian cuisine.

I looked away, checking to make sure drool wasn’t dripping down my chin.  “Sunny,” I told myself.  “Get a grip!”  To calm the erratic beating of my heart, I convinced myself that he probably had two-inch toe nails and didn’t brush his teeth.  Determined to ignore him, I went back to my book, stealing a glance only occasionally because is was beyond my self-control not to. 

When I went to order another latte, I had to pass Mr. Cookbook’s chair.  The little old lady sitting next to him glanced up at me.  “Do you work here?” She asked, catching me off guard.

“Um, no,” I said.  “Is everything okay?”

“Well, I was hoping someone could help me.  I can’t walk around too good, but I’d love to read a book while I’m waiting for my granddaughter.”

I started to say that I’d find her a book, no problem, but Mr. Cookbook beat me to it.  “I’ll find you a book,” he said in the happiest voice I’d ever heard.  He looked up at me and winked.  The wink said, “Don’t worry, I got this.” 

“What kind of book do you want?” He asked.

The little old lady thought hard for a moment.  “Penguins,” she said with a firm nod.  “I’ve always loved penguins.”

Several minutes later, latte refilled, I made the trek back to my chair.  And there was Mr. Cookbook, who’d returned with sixteen books on penguins.  He patiently listened to her stories about Antarctica, which I also listened to via eavesdropping.  He occasionally revealed the little dimple in his left cheek when he smiled at her.

And that’s when I fell in love.  That happy spirit.  That patience.  That broken shoelace.

Now, months later, I sometimes wake up at 3 AM in a cold sweat, Mr. Italian Cookbook having haunted by dreams.  “Stupid, stupid Sunny,” I mutter.  “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

Or at least said hello?

Or… Anything!

He may have been married, even though he wasn’t wearing a ring.  He may have flatly said no.  But at least I would’ve tried.  And I’d get better sleep.

As crazy, anti-feminist, and girly as it may sound, I dream of finding a Mr. Cookbook.  There are undoubtedly many benefits of the single life – and I enjoy all of them.  I’m definitely happier today - as an independent, strong, ridiculously content single woman – than I ever was while dating Mr. Wrong.  Still, if I could wish it so, I’d find Mr. Cookbook (or a good carbon copy) and force him to spend many marinara drenched evenings with me.  I’d love to, well, fall in love. 

Unfortunately there are some dreams beyond our control.  Mr. Cookbook’s reappearance.  Winning the lottery.  Having a good hair day.  But there are even more dreams that are completely within our power. 

This summer I don’t have any college classes.  It’s my first “free” summer in three years.  I can do whatever the heck I want after punching out my 40 hours.  Having this much irresponsibility to embrace is delightfully overwhelming.  I’ve gone a little crazy the past several weeks since the spring semester ended.  I’ve read 32 books, watched 26 movies, drank ___ bottles of wine (nope, not admitting to the actual number), and lost dozens of hours of sleep.  As wonderful as it’s been, I can’t keep up this schedule anymore.  It’s more exhausting than school! 

More importantly, I want to accomplish a dream this summer, and put movies – even books (!) – aside for the next three months.  I don’t want to accomplish just “a dream”.  Instead I want to accomplish this dream of mine that won’t go away, despite how good I’ve gotten at ignoring it.  The kind of dream that creates a painful physical yearning.  So I’m going for it.  Mostly because I hate pain. 

This summer I’m going to write and finish a novel.  A witty super-fantastic novel, of course. 

Nothing haunts you more than your lifelong dream once you’ve really pushed it away.  After choosing the nursing program, and finding myself committed to two years of biology (along with two years of simulated/real vomit, which is terrifying in and of itself for me) I thought about my dream of writing.  I feel like becoming a nurse is a form of cheating on my One True Love.  If I could allow myself to be completely impractical, I’d write books all day.  There’s no question.  I have no intention of quitting school, or giving up nursing, but on the same hand, I can no longer endure the internal struggle about my writing life (or lack thereof).

“Writing is such a terrible, slim-chanced, ridiculous pursuit!” I tell myself constantly.  “I’ll start dreaming about publication, which will never happen, and after my dreams are dashed, I’ll be more miserable than before.  Really, then, what’s the point?”

My conscience, who sounds (oddly enough) like Gerard Depardieu, interrupts my silent rants.  “Ohv courze eet’s sleme-chahnce eef you dohn’t trry!”

“But I have tried!”

“Noht vary heard, you idioht!” 

Gerard’s right, as usual.

For the next three months I don’t have to worry about the nursing program.  I don’t have to cheat behind my pen’s back.  I’ve decided to give it all I got and finish a manuscript.  I want to look back at the Summer of 2011 as “The Summer I Accomplished My Dream”.  And because I don’t want to listen to Gerard Depardieu anymore.  He’s mean to me.

Sure, there’s little chance of getting published, but that’s not the accomplishment I’m concentrating on.  I’m focused on simply finishing a novel.  I’ll stress out over the next steps later. 

I know that you, too, have missed opportunities.  Regrets.  Wished-I-Wouldas.  I-Wish-I-Couldas.  Uh oh – watch out! - here comes Gerard.  “You idioht!”  Yeah, that’s right, he’s talking to you this time.  Focus on a dream this summer.  A dream within your control and a dream that’s important to you.  Create a summer that one day you’ll look back at and say, “The Summer of 2011 is when I did it!”  

You’ll probably be shocked to learn that I’m a bit eccentric.  I decided I wanted to really really really focus on a Summer of Writing.  I want to embrace the “focus” concept to the fullest extent.  I encourage you to do the same.  So here are some things I did over Memorial Day weekend to prepare myself for being extremely lazy (on the practical side of life) so I can be extremely productive (on the writing/impractical side of life): 

1.  I stocked up for 3 months.  This is an anti-minimalist thing to do, if you’re the die-hard radical type such as myself.  I’m actually a bit shocked at my behavior because my kitchen cupboards actually have food in them.  I filled my cupboards with three months’ worth of my personally loved staples: whole-grain pasta, marinara sauce, olives, dark chocolate, peanut butter (LOTS of peanut butter), pesto, granola, and – yup – wine (LOTS of wine).  The only grocery shopping I’ll have to do will be for fruits, vegetables, and yogurt.  Time saver and, considering my impulsive nature around the olive bar, a money saver, too.

I also stocked up on 3 months’ worth of non-food items like shampoo, cleaning supplies, sunblock, etc. to prevent any trips to Target.  It’s amazing how easily that store steals an entire day from me.  A thief dressed in a red bulls eye.  I blame it on the beautiful clearance shelves.

2. I’m encouraging my writing habit by combining three loves - writing, photography, eating, blogging.  I’m in the process of setting up a new blog, which I’m really excited about.  When it’s ready for visitors, I’ll send you an invite and hope that you’ll stop by.  I’ve decided to write reviews for restaurants, bistros, cafes, etc. throughout Colorado.  I’ll be forced to lounge on a patio, sip something spicy, munch something sweet, while transporting myself into the mystery and mayhem that I create for my characters.  It’ll be an excellent way to enjoy the summer WHILE accomplishing my dream.

3.  I canceled my Internet connection.  No falling prey to hours of Hulu this summer.  But, oh, I’ll miss you.  Terribly.

4.  I updated my Netflix account down to 1-DVD-At-A-Time.  I was at 2 DVDs until this past weekend.  This way I can still enjoy a movie, but it’ll be more thoughtful and as a reward to a Writing Day Well Done.

5.  I’ve rearranged my apartment to support writing.  My dining table is now a writing desk.  I did an extremely thorough minimizing session to clear all distractions.  All that remains is what’s required for writing.  And eating.  And taking the occasional nap.

Whether it’s skydiving or learning Italian, painting or starting a business, pick a dream.  Redesign as much of your life as possible to put your focus on it.  Then give it your best shot.  And, for heaven’s sake, have a good time while you’re at it!  No frowning.  If I see any frowning, I’ll force you to drink a piña colada with me.  

It’s so easy to let a summer drift by.  Every September I look back and wonder where the “dog days” disappeared to.  They only disappeared because I wasn’t paying attention.  Even if your dream is simply to enjoy – to a ridiculously high level – every day of this summer, do that.  Splash in warm rain showers.  Go fishing, even when you think there’s no time.  Play hooky from work and go ride rollercoasters and eat cotton candy.  Drag a bag of books to the river – put your feet in – and melt into the afternoon with each flip of the page.  

…. Or just say hello to a beautiful stranger at Barnes & Noble.