This post is for a girl who’s done more for me in the last month than I could ever repay her for. Even without asking, she has been there. Always.
It’s been three months since I let her tap dance on this computer screen.
While I sipped on sweet elixirs south of the border, deciding whether to read a book or ride a wave, she taught me a lesson worth saving for later.
A lesson worth sticking in my wallet, right behind the fro yo frequent flyer card and before the car insurance crisis hotline.
In case I am both simultaneously stuck in a jam and needing some calcium to pump someone else’s Chevy Equinox off my little baby beemer.
I kind of love her for that. The way her words come at the moment when I am between a rock and a hard place and holding my breath trying to pretend this is all just OK. It’ll only hurt for today.
So let me tell you a story about a Maker.
A carver of lessons. A sewer of stories. A threader of truths. A baker of best days, even from far away, as our sun sets at the same time and I find myself wishing to rewind back before I knew what ten minutes ago felt like.
Back before I had a reason to search for a Maker.
Because, you see, I’m not a Maker. I am a pro at Moving & Shaking but never the Making.
Never the taking this moment and turning it into ten thousand more, all headed in the same direction. Sure, I can spin seconds into hours on my laptop, working hard on projects that hold me close on Saturday nights, but it doesn’t feel like Making.
When the going gets rough, and I find my heart in my throat, I am pretty good at moving & shaking. Moving out of the way. Shaking my head No No No, This Just Won’t Happen This Time Around.
But this Maker I know, she’s a fighter. She takes the Moving & the Shaking and turns it into Making the minute she pulls her Twitter feed together and taps 140-character calls to action to please, oh please, just let yourself breathe easy today, OK?
Please, oh please, give your heart a break. Because you’re going somewhere remarkable. Somewhere fantastical. Somewhere that was made for gold glitter glue and sequins sprinkled inside a Congratulations card sitting in your PO box for the second your key slides into the lock.
And isn’t mail magical like that? Aren’t words beautiful like that?
They come back to you like boomerangs when you need them most. Three months, sixty-five cups of tea and a couple hundred Sweet ‘n’ Lows later and here they are. On your screen.
She taught me that moments don’t make days, that we can string together the pieces we want to stick like beads on a friendship bracelet at summer camp, only using the metallic ones or the neon ones or the ones that glow in the dark so your smile will always find its way home.
So if there is anything, anything at all, that I could be when I grow up, surely it is not just a Mover or a Shaker, but a Maker. A Maker of friendship bracelets through Twitter feeds, homemade stationery and perfect pump-up speeches for when every day feels like Monday. For when every song sounds sadder than it should.
A Maker of stories.
A Maker of moments.
But mostly, a Maker of days. Even if every moment doesn’t deserve a bead on my friendship bracelet.