new perspective

Flying blind

A couple of nights ago, something started thump-whumping on my back door. I didn’t think anything of it at first; my house often makes creepy noises that flare up and then disappear. This one kept happening, though.

It’s August, a little late for the giant Junebugs that don’t realize a giant pane of glass stands between them and the light. Anyway, the sound was lower-pitched than that, like something bigger and maybe furry.

I started having visions of a raccoon trying to nudge the door open, but when I turned on the light and looked outside, I saw nothing. No ringed eyes looking up at me, no tiny black paws scrabbling to grab hold, nothing. I turned off the light and went back to the sofa.

Thump-whump! Thump-whump!

The sound came again, and again I turned on the light and looked through the glass door. Again nothing. This time I convinced myself the sound had come from a bat launching its small, furry body toward my kitchen, stopped only by the glass door. That had to be why I couldn’t see anything, right? It had flown away. Definitely creepy.

Back to my seat I went, mentally preparing for how I would remove the creepy flying mammal when it finally sneaked into my kitchen. I don’t have a net, but I might be able to locate a tennis racquet somewhere in the house. Oh please, oh please, don’t let it come to that.

Thump-whump! Thump-whump!

When the noise started again, I grabbed a flashlight. Instead of going directly to the door and scaring off the critter by turning on the outside light, I went to a window where I could see the door from a different angle. I shined the flashlight across the door to try to catch a glimpse of the offender. Still nothing. What the heck?

My boyfriend came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. He scanned the area with his eyes and somehow landed on a tiny flicker of movement on the ground. “Shine your light there,” he said.

I did. I could see something moving, but I couldn’t get a good visual. I adjusted the flashlight’s beam to be less diffuse, and I finally saw it. A giant locust. Seriously? That was the thing that had been creeping me out all evening?

Subsequent thumps that evening no longer bothered me. In fact, I even gave a little chuckle when I heard the sound again, amused and a little sheepish at how I had fallen victim to my assumptions.

There was no bat trying to get into my house to terrorize me. All it took was a little investigation to disprove my theory. Once I got more information, even the continued thumping no longer set my mind racing.

What a good reminder to look for more information before drawing conclusions and to be open to what we learn, whether it proves or dispels.

Shine your light. Look from a different angle. Be ready to find something you don’t expect.

Same old song and dance

*1986 Junior Miss banquet. Not naming names.*

I heard a song on the radio the other day that took me back to high school when I participated in the Junior Miss Pageant (now known as Distinguished Young Women). Yes, believe it or not, I was once a pageant contestant. The how and why are less important to this story. Just know that it happened.

I had no expectation of winning—or coming close—but I did my best and had fun with the other girls through the process. It wasn’t too hard to follow all the choreographed moves, I thrived in the one-on-one interview, and really, how taxing is it to walk across the stage in a prom dress? Only one aspect of the pageant struck cold, hard fear in me: the talent competition.

It has been well documented that I can’t sing. I don’t play an instrument. I’ve never formally twirled a baton, taken dance lessons, or participated in any activity that could be considered “stage-worthy.” I had NO idea what I would do for this competition, and I felt horribly awkward.

At the time, a TV show called Puttin’ on the Hits had become popular. It featured people lip syncing to popular songs, and judges scored participants on how authentic their “singing” seemed. This, my friends, is where I drew my inspiration. (Insert eye roll here.) Indeed, I lip synced a song. On a stage. With a few made-up dance moves. In front of a few hundred people. It was not my best moment.

Anyway, hearing that song on the radio that reminded me of my pageant experience and got me thinking about how we define talent. We take such a narrow view of talent when we limit it to what translates to a stage performance. What about the person who is really good at cooking? Or knows how to fix anything mechanical with a single glance? Or can run fast or jump high or make three pointers all day long? What about the person who can write stories that make people laugh or cry or even transport them to another place? Or the empath who naturally knows how to make others feel special? There are so many kinds of talent that don’t translate well to a stage. How do we put those on display?

2020 Tammy would do things differently. I would have written this essay—or one like it—and delivered it on stage. The writing would have been my talent—not just stringing the words together, but speaking for others and hopefully bringing a different perspective to the audience.

I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t write. It’s pretty hard to make a cheesecake in two minutes in a high school auditorium.

Talent is so much more than song and dance. The next time someone tells you “Oh, I’m not talented,” don’t let it slide. Everyone does something well, in a way that comes naturally. Look for it.

And by the way, it’s not a competition.

Dual purpose

We build highways with one purpose in mind: facilitating land-hugging, wheeled transportation. Occasionally, we’ll temporarily shut them down to accommodate a bicycle event, a road race, or a parade, but their primary reason for existence is to carry motorized traffic.

Yesterday I happened upon the scene in this photo. (If you want to see better, not-from-inside-a-moving-vehicle shots, click here.) A private plane, about a mile from its destination, ran into trouble and landed on the highway. Besides giving a few motorists heart palpitations, everyone emerged thankfully unscathed.

As my travel companion and I continued on our merry way, I started thinking about how similar a highway is to a runway, its proximity to the airport, and the pilot’s quick thinking–and how incredible it was that all those factors came together perfectly so that no one got hurt.

It also made me wonder what I have in my life that I might be able to use for some other purpose. It might be as small-scale as the hot air popcorn poppers java enthusiasts use to roast their own coffee beans, but it could be something more grandiose. What do I have, use, or do that could change everything if I just think about it from a different perspective?

In his moment of crisis, that pilot didn’t see a road; he saw a place to land his plane. Looking around my life, I know there’s got to be a runway around here somewhere.