FollowOnce upon a time, there were two Moms.
And their jeans were tight.
And that annoyed them.
Mom One said, “My jeans are tight. And I’m annoyed. I’m going to go for a run.”
Mom Two said, “My jeans are tight too. I’m annoyed as well. I’m going to join you for a run.”
They went for that run. And they talked about their kids…because they were Moms. And Moms talk about their kids. And because their kids were the reason why their jeans were tight. But the time passed quickly. And the run wasn’t so bad.
So, they decided to run together again. And they chatted some more about their kids.
They ran again. And they divulged their dreams for their kids.
They ran again. And they discussed their husbands.
They ran again. And they whispered about the stresses of marriage.
They ran for a long time together, and…as running partners so often do…they became the closest of friends.
Their runs were so much more than exercise.
Their runs were sacred.
Therapy.
Validation.
Encouragement.
Raw honesty.
Laughter.
Acceptance.
A lifeline.
Occasional peeing behind a tree.
One day those two Moms…whose jeans were no longer tight…had the courage to talk about the one thing they’d never talked about before.
Mom One asked Mom Two, “If you could be anything in the world, what would you want to be?”
Mom Two replied, “My dream is to be a nurse.”
Mom Two asked Mom One, “If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?”
Mom One whispered, “My dream is to be a writer.”
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse told the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer, “You would be a wonderful writer.”
The Mom who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer told the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse, “You would make a wonderful nurse.”
They smiled at each other and tucked their dreams back into their boxes. Because…at that time…that’s where those dreams belonged.
And their conversation turned back to the Barefoot Contessa’s orzo with roasted vegetables. Because, damn, Ina nailed it with that recipe.
A few years passed and, though they didn’t run as regularly, they remained close friends.
They continued to laugh.
They shared more fabulous recipes.
They confided in each other.
And they reminded each other about their dreams, still tucked away in boxes.
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer said: “Remember your dream of becoming a nurse? I think it’s time for you to follow your dream.”
And The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse said: “Remember your dream of becoming a writer? I think it’s time for you to follow your dream.”
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer said: “I’m scared.”
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse said: “I’m scared too. Let’s be scared together.”
And the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer said: “It’s a deal. And by the way, I have a fantastic chicken recipe for you. Raspberry Balsamic Glaze. Really smashing.”
More than four years has passed since those two Moms first ran together.
This morning, the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer received a text. It said, very simply and quite eloquently:
“I FUCKING DID IT.”
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse had just completed her final exam.
The Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Nurse is finally a nurse.
And the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer was so overcome with emotion that she sat at her kitchen counter and wept tears of joy and relief and pride and exhaustion for her friend.
And then…naturally…the Mom Who Dreamed of Becoming a Writer sat down.
And wrote about it.
Because that’s what writers do.
Here’s to tight jeans…
…To running partners…
…To reminding ourselves to dream…
…To having the courage to pursue those dreams…
…And to friendship.
Today is a good day.
Today my friend is a nurse.
