the road rose up to meet me

Sometimes I need a little push because I’m not always motivated to push myself. I run every other day but I don’t time myself or think about finding a different route; I’m content to run the same circuit through the park with only an occasional detour. Yesterday I woke up, scarfed down a handful of almonds, and went to the park for a run. I considered running the whole park but took my usual shorter route—why not? I’m not a die hard runner (I prefer power walking) and only run (jog slowly) so I can fit into my jeans. I went home, made some oatmeal, and finished writing comments on my 10th graders’ report cards. Most of my students really put a lot of effort into the class, but one student always phoned it in and I found myself writing him a short lecture on the importance of self-motivation. How do we learn as children to push ourselves? In the early years we generally have an adult standing over us, making sure we do what’s expected of us. But then the adults move on and many of us have to learn to hold ourselves to a higher standard because most folks don’t expect a whole lot from a young person of color. I’ve been underestimated most of my life and I think that motivates me to excel. Yet once my reports cards were turned in, I thought about whether or not I really wanted to walk over to the convent I’m writing about. Founded by Irish nuns, Mercy Home (as it’s now called) is in Clinton Hill and used to take in “unwed mothers” back in the 1860s. I’d already written a scene set in the convent but figured I could go see what it looks like now and maybe try to peek inside. But it was a grey day and the scene was already written…I don’t generally struggle with self-motivation but some days it’s easier to just curl up with my laptop and a cup of tea; I’m averaging 1300 words a day and at this rate, I should finish the novel by the end of the week (YAY!). I’m keeping my Xmas tree up until this novel’s done, and its soft lights make it tempting to plant myself on the couch and write using only the resources I find online. But then I decided I wanted cake, and I did need to go to the bank, and my short run only earned me 6000 steps…so I took the shuttle train three stops and then walked, and walked, and hoped the convent would be worth the trek. It was! I couldn’t find an entrance and so walked around the block until I saw a woman exiting through a door in the fortress-like wall. I went up to the door and thought about pressing the buzzer, but then thought maybe a glimpse of the courtyard was enough. I’d taken pictures of the convent’s exterior so maybe I should call it a day and just go get some cake. But then a young Black man saw me peering through the door and said, “You coming in?” Before I could answer he opened the door from the inside and then asked if I knew where I was going. I told him I wanted to see inside the convent’s oldest building and he directed me to the basement entrance. A sign next to the door said to press the bell and face the mounted camera. I did that three times but nothing happened. “Oh, well—I tried,” I thought to myself. I couldn’t see anyone through the glass part of the door but knocked anyway and a friendly face immediately appeared. Because I didn’t give up, I got a tour of the first floor of the historic convent including the Heritage Room and the chapel, which is stunning. Afterward I got my cake, went to the bank, came home, put my feet up (14,000 steps!), and rewrote the chapter I set inside an inaccurately austere convent. I logged off after writing 1400 words and sent a thank-you email to my friendly tour guide. When you have an active imagination, it can be easy to opt out of the real world. People have been pretty disappointing as of late and it makes me want to stay off Facebook, turn off the nightly news, and just stay home where I’m safe inside my head. But that’s not how life works and when you go out to meet the world, sometimes the road really does rise up to meet you.