Twenty Minutes

There’s something about twenty minutes. Whether on the treadmill, elliptical, or, dare I say, walking or running outside, something happens after twenty minutes. Like a switch in my brain, thoughts of calls I need to be make, bills I need to be pay, or a lawn I need to mow give way to noticing how light shines through the trees, flowers smell, or how blessed I truly am. I’m sure there’s some physiological explanation, but I'm happy to wait for it to happen and stand back and watch as my mind, heart, and imagination dance around me like fireflies.

Twenty minutes on my walk this morning, as if on cue, a gust of wind came through the trees, causing thousands of acorns to drop from the trees. Like dodging machine gun fire, I covered my head and ducked. It lasted only a few seconds, but the moment was loaded with significance and meaning.

Before walking, I finished a memoir by Paula Susan Wallace, the founder of the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), entitled The Bee and the Acorn and could not help but laugh at the synchronicity. SCAD is a remarkable school created to teach students to become industrious and adaptable as bees and as solid and lasting as the oaks (which come from acorns).

As I meandered through nature’s shrapnel, I thought of something author Elizabeth Gilbert, said about ideas. They come to us, knock on our door, and it’s our responsibility to answer the knock. If we don’t, the idea will find someone who will. So, too, if we open the door but do nothing with the idea, it will leave and find a more accommodating host.

Because I was past the twenty minute mark, I could see how ideas, like acorns, fall all around us. The question is, what will we do with them? Will we cover our heads and keep walking, or will we take one and help it become what it has the potential to be?

Will we write that book or paint that picture, or leave it for someone else?

Will we introduce that half-baked inspired, crazy idea at the next staff meeting, or remain quiet?

Will we try something we’ve always wanted to do, or play it safe?

Will we follow that hunch and call or write someone on our mind, or just think about them?

Will we sketch the scene before us, or keep moving?

Will we write out the lines of a poem that came out of nowhere, or think about something else?

Will we see in ordinary events something inspirational and tell others about it? . . . We will, if it happens after twenty minutes!