Written Sunday, March 4, 2007
Seattle, Washington

RUN FOR IT

Morning walk.
From a block away I see a woman wheel her blue station wagon into her driveway. She jumps out of the car in what we Seattleites call the Run-For-It mode. It’s raining - as usual. But not hard - as usual. By the time you get out of your car, put on your raincoat, find the umbrella and open it, you will get as wet as if you just Run-For-It. So that’s what you do.

The lady quickly jerks open the side doors and back hatch of her car. I see her stuff. Very Much Stuff. At least three loads to be carried inside. A rational person would fetch an umbrella from the house and make three tranquil trips, followed by a nice cup of tea.

But I know what she’s going to do. Because I’ve made the attempt myself. This is a Big-time Run-For-It opportunity. Which means somehow gathering up all your stuff out of the car at once, and then running for the house. One trip. It’s madness to try, but try you will.

So I sit down in the shelter of the bus stop across the street to watch.
This is going to be instructive.

First she puts her keys in her mouth, and then quickly slings the straps of a purse, a gym bag, and a computer bag over her shoulders. Bumps the front door of the car shut with her butt. Then she grabs the dry cleaning out of the back seat and hooks the hanger on her purse strap. Bumps that car door shut with her butt. At the stern of the car she starts hanging plastic bags of groceries on the fingers of one hand, then hangs several paper sacks on her other hand, and finally wraps her arms around a big pot of tulips and a bag of kitty litter.

I want to shout, “No, No lady, don’t . . . wait . . .”

She has grasped only one handle of a big bag of oranges. Loaded down like a Nepalese yak, she takes aim for her porch and sprints up the stairs. Leaving behind a trail of oranges. One orange has made it to the driveway and is rolling toward the street. Dropping her entire load in the shelter of the porch by the front door, she darts back down the steps and scoops up the errant orange like a third baseman fielding a sacrifice bunt. I wanted to shout, “Easy out! Throw it, throw it!”

Still in motion, the lady pirouettes on one foot, slams shut the back hatch of her car, gathers the front of her skirt as a satchel, collects the rest of the oranges from the steps and bounds back up onto the porch. Taking the keys from between her teeth where she has been carrying them all this time, she punches one into the front door lock, shoves the door open, retrieves her scattered load, picking up some parts and kicking other parts inside ahead of her. She briefly reappears to snatch up the bag of kitty litter. The door bangs shut, leaving only the pot of tulips as a silent memorial to the lady’s admirable performance.

Damn! The lady is good. And fast. If she had reappeared for the tulips I would have given her a standing ovation from across the street.

What I admire is her optimism. Rationally considered, she could not have packed all her stuff into the house in one trip. But there are times when people will not accept rational limitations. Go for it. Because you just might pull it off. And she did. Mostly.

What’s this about?
In such moments as these I see the pilot light of reckless courage fire reserves of fuel to meet the small challenges of daily life. A stubborn refusal to accept obvious limitations. A delight in taking risks and defying odds. She didn’t notice me across the street. It wasn’t a performance, but an innate personal response to a challenge. It’s a miniscule example of what’s brought to bear in far more heroic situations. People run into burning buildings to save a life out of the same inclination. It’s just a matter of scale.

That’s a good thing about us. Something to like. What seems improbable just might be possible. More often than not, given the options, we don’t play it safe and dry.
We run for it.