Today is the start of something new, because I’ve decided to begin a blog.
The inspiration for this came from someone unexpected, a stranger named Judy. And while I gave her a polite fake “thank you” in person earlier today, this is the real one. The honest one.
Daniel (my partner) and I spent the day in the little town of Florence, OR. The plan was simple: grab some coffee, wander around, take in the local vibe. By the end of the day, we were ready to head back to the car and drive home when Daniel decided, on a whim, to stop at the local artist co-op.
As soon as we walked in, an elderly woman greeted us. She asked if either of us were writers. I shrugged and admitted I only really scribble in my journal from time to time. That was all she needed to hear.
She launched into her whole heartfelt spiel about how now is the perfect time to start writing, and how I could learn a thing or two from her. Before letting us browse, she added, “Go look around, there are some beautiful things in here. But when you’re done, stop by my tent outside.”
Sure enough, outside the co-op she had a table covered with pamphlets and books. And here’s the thing: I wasn’t particularly interested in what she was offering. But she was so kind, so warm — she had that perfect grandma energy you just can’t say no to.
So I promised we’d stop by.
As Daniel and I wandered through the co-op, I couldn’t focus on the art. My mind was stuck on one thing: stopping at Judy’s tent on the way out. Could we sneak out unnoticed? Maybe if she got distracted with another customer? That was my hope.
But no. Daniel, of course, wouldn’t allow a sneaky exit. He’s far too honest for that.
And sure enough, when it came time to leave, there she was — smiling, completely unoccupied, waiting patiently for us at her little tent.
It went exactly how I imagined. She showed us her books, read a few paragraphs from each, and, because Daniel is both kind and social, he leaned right in. He laughed at her corny jokes, nodded at her advice, and gave her the full attention she craved.
Meanwhile, I stood there torn between politeness and impatience.
Judy explained her five-step writing process — and I can share it with you because I’m literally staring at the pamphlet she gave me:
Start with an idea (wow, groundbreaking)
See if it has legs (never saw an idea with legs before)
Do the needed research (never would’ve thought)
Acquire photos (I like photos)
Start writing (woah)
All the while, she kept circling back to me, as if this was my big moment. I smiled and nodded, but internally I was rolling my eyes, thinking only of our escape plan.
The conversation dragged on. My patience thinned. I couldn’t fake interest much longer. Luckily, Daniel and Judy naturally wound things down. We exchanged our polite “thank yous,” and “nice to meet yous,” and finally we were free.
As we walked away, I was ready to vent — maybe joke about how long it all went on, maybe roll my eyes at the experience. But before I could say anything, Daniel spoke up:
“She was so sweet. Anyone could write. You could write. She was inspirational.”
I muttered, “Yeah,” but inside my irritation bubbled. I didn’t enjoy the interaction, and that made me feel guilty. Because the truth is, she wasn’t trying to sell me anything shady or waste my time. She was a kind soul trying to inspire someone she believed had an interest in writing.
And here’s the irony: she was right.
She saw something in me I didn’t see in myself. She believed I could write, and in her persistence, she handed that belief to me.
By the time we got home, my frustration had softened. My mind calmed. And then this crazy idea popped into my head: “Maybe I could write.”
And so, here I am — writing.
I even adjusted and personalized Judy’s simple five-step process for myself:
Get journal
Write as fast as my mind races
Take a picture of my messy scribbles
Upload it to AI to transcribe and make sense of
Edit and Post it on a blog
Not quite the same thing, but it works.
So Judy, if I could go back, I’d be more present. I’d thank you genuinely instead of just politely. And I’d stop worrying about how to escape the situation and instead lean into it.
Because today, thanks to you, I wrote.