Inspiration from Unexpected Moments with a Podcast Favorite: Magic in the Forest

I wake up bored, concerned about how I'm going to spend the day, how to make it different from yesterday. How to expend enough energy so that I can sleep again tonight. How to get motivated to write. I do an online strength workout and have my two fried eggs. I let Cheen lick the plate. I think of all the MRI cases I should read. I scroll social media and delete emails and political pleas for money. I avoid the news. Tom works in the yard and turns some wood for several hours while I wither away in existential crisis. I must leave my house today.

Much later, Tom and I are hiking the Mason Farm Biological Reserve trail, like we often do. We're talking about how to avoid the slump of retirement as our retired friends seem to implode and self-destruct with doomscrolling and their incessant focus on health. Tom is attentive. Our brainstorming energizes me. I'm feeling more optimistic and even having some ideas about things I can do with words I've already written, repurposing wisdom in a new way rather than acquiring new skills. 

It is close to 5p and the remaining sunlight peeks through half empty trees. Our feet crunch on near black, curled up leaves covering the trail. Our usual access point behind Finley golf course was destroyed by flooding and overflow of Morgan Creek so now, we must park at the top of the hill. Our hike used to begin and end as a flat stroll but now, we must huff and puff when we are tired. We come to the fork where either way leads to back to the car. Tom wants to go right, believing it's shorter. But I feel certain that way is steeper, so I suggest we go left. Then we'll have completed the whole circle length of the trail.

Not far from the parking lot, Tom walks ahead of me. We see three women walking toward us, one wearing a sweatshirt. She's going to be really hot in that sweatshirt because I am sweating right now. They give the standard hiking hello as they pass us. I make eye contact with the exceptionally friendly third woman and stop in my tracks. 

"I know you!" I gush, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

"You do?!" she squeals, meeting my gaze with her big green eyes. "I'm Amanda!"

"I KNOW!!! I'm Tracey!!" I gleefully proclaim.

"HI TRACEY!!!!!" she beams.

It's like a reunion with someone I've never met.

I reach out to shake her hand and immediately begin stroking her right arm with the fingertips of my left hand as I break eye contact to look at Tom. "Honey! This is Amanda Doyle from the We Can Do Hard Things podcast!!" (and book and Vice President of the non-profit Together Rising which raised over $55 million to help women, families, and children in crisis.)

Tom smiles widely back at us, visibly excited to be witnessing this bizarre tender moment in the woods. "I knew you looked familiar! I was just about to tell Trace how much you looked like someone familiar!"

I can't take my eyes off her. We are locked in. "I just want to thank you so much for coming into my life. I have learned so much from you." I blather on and on. Amanda listens and smiles.

She introduces us to the others, one of whom is the producer of the show, and the other a long-time friend.

"What are you doing here?! Are you here for business or pleasure?!" I ask, eagerly.

"Purely pleasure," she says, and then I say (as if she needs to hear it from me), "I know you have young children and I'm just so glad you're taking this time for yourself. It's so important. Our kids are in their twenties now . . ."

Her friend asks where we live and where our kids went to school. Hers go to Carrboro High. As we chit-chat, Amanda turns to Tom. "Hi! I'm Amanda!" and she and Tom have their own conversation. I can't take in all that's being said but we all converse for about 10 minutes.

I look back at Amanda."I'm so sorry I was stroking your arm earlier. I think I just had to make sure you were real!" to which she sincerely replies, "Oh no. I thought it felt good!" and laughs.

We hold eye contact the whole time. Her life energy is radiant, kind and sweet, enthusiastic and just giddy. I am giddy. It's surreal.

I feel a sense of urgency to explain to her who I am, who we are, and why this encounter feels so meaningful. "We were literally just walking and talking about the next chapter of our lives and how to be useful. I am a good person," I stammer. "I mean, I try to be a good person," and everyone laughs and says, "Of course you are!" or something like that.

I turn to Tom, "I'm so glad you are here to witness this because it would be impossible for me to describe this meeting to you!" He's visibly delighted too. I look back at her genuine, smiling face.

Then she leans in for a hug. "I'm so sweaty!" I clinch my arms close to my body smothering my armpits, embracing her with my hands and forearms like a T-Rex. She doesn't say a word. Then she hugs Tom. It is full-body warmth. Waaaaaaay sweeter than I could have ever imagined.

I thank her producer for doing such a great job with the show and tell her friend how nice it's been meeting them. "Have a wonderful evening and girls' weekend!" I shout as we part ways.

Tom and I walk the remainder of the trail as if struck by lightning. We call to tell our kids and the friends who know how much I love that podcast. There aren't many, but reliving the experience keeps us high and perpetuates the human connection. 

It is rare for heterosexual men to listen to the We Can Do Hard Things podcast. I feel grateful that Tom and our son, Aidan, have been willing to listen to episodes I've shared with them, ones that have led to powerfully meaningful insights and deep conversations. It has been especially lovely that Tom feels equally delighted and astounded by the "work of fairies" in the woods. We both agree that, even if we hadn't known who she was before the hike, it would still count as one of the most magical encounters we've had, the pure joy of meeting another with mutual, unbridled enthusiasm: There you are! I'm so happy to see you!

I feel certain if we'd met on a busy street or with lots of other people around, this encounter would have unfolded differently. Maybe there would have been recognition, but I know I wouldn't have said anything. Something about being in nature, sharing a common desire to be outside on a beautiful day, moving our bodies with people we love, led me to feel safe to be myself and not even attempt to feign formality. I didn't even pause before emoting, but rather, acted on reflex and unadulterated love. She could have blown me off or been affronted, annoyed, or simply polite, but she met me where I was, not just physically, but on a heart level. Something about it jolted my awareness about the kind of energy I need from others, what I crave: bubbly, unfiltered life energy, not on a superficial level, but on a level that treasures life's moments as gifts, no matter what they are, and how lucky we are to be alive, here and now.

In response to this chance meeting, I looked up the phrase, "Never meet your heroes." Google gave this origin story of the saying: One of the oldest accounts of the phrase is from 'Madame Bovary,' a novel by French writer, Gustave Flaubert. The original French quote goes, 'Il ne faut pas toucher aux idoles: la dorure en reste aux mains,' which roughly translates to 'don't touch your idols: a little gold always rubs off. ' I've previously met people I admired from afar and have been disillusioned, so I understand the warning to remember that all people, even our idols, are flawed. In this case, though, Amanda Doyle elevated her hero status for me, far exceeding my expectations. I hope that through my rubbing her arm like Alladin's lamp for, like, 60 seconds, much of Amanda's gold rubbed onto me.

Life is surely strange, beautiful, and brimming with surprises and inspiration from unexpected moments.

What if we'd turned right instead?