Full Speed & Fumbles
On starting and persisting, clumsily and with conviction
Start writing. This is what’s visible, faded gray text, when you open a Substack page and attempt to unleash ideas onto a page. Literally - start. You can write a word, a sentence, in my case - literally repeat the words already in front of me. But - do something. Just try. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Start - Go - Try - Live! So very simple…and then there’s the starting and the seeing it through.
I often hear a similar refrain when others set goals and attempt anew - Want to run a marathon? Start running. Want to clear your mind? Start walking. Want to lose weight? Start with 1 habit change. Want to feel better? Start somewhere. On and on. For me, starting has always mingled, almost frenemies with, fear, nail biting, “welp - I started and that sucked,” or “i’ll try again tomorrow.”
*
And then I think of Starter Extratrodinairre. He goes by GP - simplistic, concise, funny how this has become his title given the spirited human he is. He is locquaious, gentle spirited, a man of many words, wearer of cashmere sweaters, player of golf at exclusive clubs, taster of the best foods, retired surgeon, teller of stories, the kind of person you want to sit with for awhile. Now a 70ish year old man living in the suburbs of the South, he is a masterful starter of conversation and teller of stories. My favorite of his - about how he started in this country. In sum, he knows and insists on living a good life.
Coming from India, hot, muggy, loud, unruffled, vibrant, chaotically brilliant, India, he arrived in this country, the United States, with a suitcase in the dead of winter in NY. Where India is a hug, NY a scoff. NY offered strangers. It gave his first feeling of cold, cold. It even laid a white carpet of snow for him upon his arrival. India, the ever gracious host welcoming one in with tea and cookies, stands far in the distance from the unwelcome scoffs of NY Winter.
Having to transport himself from the airport to the bus station and onwards, he tells the story the same way every time. How he started - suitcase in hand, thin soled sneakers on his feet, in a land without cell phones, wifi, more importantly, a nearby friend.
“I walked. From the bus station to the next block, and the next. With my map in hand. I walked. I stopped at a store to ask someone where my host’s house was. I didn’t speak English very well. I was so cold. I walked. I just kept on walking…”
Peppering him with questions, I ask -
“Weren’t you cold?!”
“But how did you hold your suitcase and walk on icy streets, and manage?”
“Were you by yourself?”
“How did you feel?”
Giving his trademark smile and gentle laugh, he responds, “I just kept going. I made it eventually. Gosh what I have learned since.” He shares this story in his palatial home, with his grown children besides him, soon shifting into a conversation about his upcoming golfing trip and African safari. He shares it with the ease of someone far from the cold icy NY streets of his past, someone settled snug into this new life, the corner seat of the couch, blanket and tea in hand.
*
He started. Applied to Medical School - then Residency - then to work in the US - then to the plane ticket - to the train ticket - to the bus ticket - to the first block - the second - the bodega - the next apartment - the next job. He started again and again and again, the way my daughter, having newly found the joys of walking, fumbles, wanders, laughs, shrieks, starts, over again, finding her footing, the way we do in our first days.
When I wonder whether to procrastinate the thing that’s just within reach, I think of him and I start, too. More fumbling than full speed, fear with fierce resolve, I start. You can have the icy streets, the heavy suitcase, the pining for the Mumbai streets, balmy and blaring behind you, and you can still start here. Step by step, we go. There’s this big, beautiful, bold, sometimes cold and icy AF thing - if you’re willing to Start & Fumble & Start again.
on personhood
Being a person in this world is a strange mix of madness and awe. I often live in the in between. I was working with someone in the midst of many life changes and she shared the messiness of the in between. When one thing is about to end, there’s a feeling of possibility and hope on the other side, and then when you enter the in between, suddenly, fear, change, disbelief, nostalgia, wonder. Accepting this or even embracing it, we decided, is one way through.
on motherhood
“My hands are just really cranky today, Mama,” my daughter lamented. “I think they may just need a little rest for a minute.” My hands felt cranky later in the day, too, and instead of fighting it, I just gave them a little rest for a minute. I revel in this with motherhood - there is SO.MUCH.LEARNING. It’s a masterclass in studying little humans with oceans of depth, even in their smallest forms. Cranky hands, teary requests, delighted - “I love you so much,” first words - as a mother, you get to go inside for all of it (as long as they’ll have you). You get to be backstage for the action, seeing the crank hands before the standing ovation. I try my best to hold it all in. <cue the weeping & applause>
on sisterhood
I have a friend who lives many miles away, who I have only met in real life a few times, who is a soft landing. Voice notes, texts, photos, the innermost fears and joys we have, we share together. We hear other, respond with “that’s 1000% it,” and affirm each other’s goodness. I cannot remember the very beginning, but I imagine this soft landing came because long ago, one of us said something like “Meet me at the park?” or “How are you?” or “You’re doing a really good job.” Once we started, we kept going. Look at that.
this week: gas up with word fuel
