Last night. The evening grows later and later. I must go and walk my rent check down and deposit it into my landlord’s mailbox. As much as I would like to just stay curled up in the comfort of home, I know this task is a non-negotiable. 

I frequently relish the opportunity to make this journey on foot. So few tasks in modern American life can be accomplished without a car. Every time I am presented with the opportunity to walk and complete something on my to-do list, I take it. And even when it is late or cold or hot or rainy, I still try to enjoy the novelty of living some place quaint that gives me these little sojourns. 

Last night. I walk out the door on a mission. The evening is lovely. Cool air and a sky full of stars. I cover the four blocks and deliver the envelope. The glow of the Christmas lights from downtown reach all the way to the mailbox and I am powerless to resist the temptation to view their full splendor. I begin to wander towards the central plaza where the entire canopy of trees have been bedazzled in lights for the season. I stop to hear two men strumming guitars and singing, “Under the boardwalk”. I smile and continue on, weaving between streets, people watching, and getting a feel for what kind of crowds a Monday night in early December draw to this ancient city. 

Everything is beautiful and bright. People are smiling and joy permeates the air. The crowds are much less than they were on Saturday, but I still walk around feeling safe and secure as I meander on my own. I walk down St. George street full of tourist shops and eateries. I wonder if I will find any other live music on a Monday, and I push on, letting my curiosity guide me. I come to the end of the road and turn to walk along the bayfront so I can enjoy the breeze coming off of the water. There are less people on the sidewalk and I welcome the peace and ease of reduced human density. Sometimes, the downtown crowds can be overwhelming. 

Up ahead I see the outdoor seating area of the White Lion. I’ve never been in this establishment before, but this past Saturday I saw it filled to the gills with people and tonight I look upon it with different eyes. Although nearly empty by comparison, I am more interested to see the inside than in the past. A bend in the sidewalk would allow me to skirt the venue and satiate my curiosity of what this place might be about. Walking into a bar continues to be slightly terrifying to me. It has been my entire life. But I know the fear is preposterous and sometimes I enjoy the opportunity to stare that fear right in the face by walking in, casing the joint, and then walking right out. I feel a little of that anxiety now and know there is only one way to meet this moment. I take the bend in the sidewalk and wander towards the open doors of the bar. 

As I get closer, I can hear music. TLC’s “No Scrubs.” Not my favorite song, but undeniably a song that I know and can get down to. I see there are already a small group of ladies doing just that, and so I walk in and join them on the dance floor. The words come back immediately and I go from my evening stroll to part of the dance party seamlessly. The ladies are all dancing and singing along, I am dancing and singing along. Who needs a formal invite to join their group? Two of the girls have their phones up capturing the moment and there I am, just a random lady walking in and now permanently a part of their memories collected from this trip to St. Augustine. 

We go hard singing and dancing until the end of the song. I am hoping it is followed by another track even more up my alley, but the music really continues to go downhill from that point forward and sadly, there will be no more dancing. 

As the song closes, I jump in. I must know. “Did you guys request that song, or did it just come on and you all happened to know it?” It was a specific request. Seven young women out at a bar on a Monday, I assume they are from out of town and here for a wedding, a bachelorette party, or some similar type of affair. I guess correctly. They are all from elsewhere and convened for the celebration of an engagement of their friend. I didn’t even know people traveled or partied for engagements, so this is news to me. But, good for them. It is always beautiful to see friends gathered in celebration. They cannot believe that I live here and just wandered in off the street. I must admit, this is a really incredible part of living where I do. One minute you are walking to pay your rent, the next you are part of an engagement party. 

I ask one of the girls to give me the scoop on where everyone is from and how they all know each other. So, we get to talking. Which, because it is a bar, and, as I said, the music keeps going downhill, means that me and this woman are actually screaming at one another as we try to keep a casual conversation going. A humorous arrangement for sure. I ask her about herself and she tells me many interesting things, including that she had a stint in poker sales. I find this fascinating and take it to mean that she was the smart, beautiful woman running the games. I don’t think I knew this was a real thing. I thought it was just something in movies. I love meeting people whose very existence expands one’s view of the world we live in. 

The music gets worse and I wonder if perhaps this is my cue to continue my wander, when she turns and asks me what I do. I tell her I am a writer.
I still get nervous saying this. Like I’m really just pretending that I am a writer since it’s kind of a hobby at the moment and I’ve not got a book for purchase or an article published somewhere snazzy. It’s currently a complex web of dreams, hopes, aspirations, crushing fear, vulnerability, and imposter syndrome.
More That than a Solid Occupation. So even claiming it in my response to her feels a little over zealous and unwieldy. 

In all of the years that I’ve been having this nerve wracking interaction both in reality (and in my head), I could never have dreamed for a better response to this vulnerable statement of identity.
Her eyes light up and she smiles brightly, as if I have just told her that I am a full time Disney Princess or a Fairy Godmother.
She says, “That is so awesome! How cool! Do you have a blog?”
Not only am I blown away by her enthusiastic support of my fledgling career pursuit, but she went right to it: a blog. Here I am thinking for the past few years as I try pulling myself together enough to start a blog, “What is this, 2010? Do people even read blogs anymore?” I don’t actually know the answer to that, but here I have a young woman who very clearly wants me to have a blog. And, actually, I do. She grabs her phone and asks for the name right away, saying that she is absolutely going to follow my blog. The link takes her strait to the page, and as I nervously shuffle through my excuses, “there’s no email sign up just yet; there’s only five posts; it’s still a rough draft; I don’t have instagram …” undeterred, she sincerely and with great joy says she will be my first follower. 

What?! I barely even have a blog, and I already have an enthusiastic supporter?! She didn’t even care to know what it was about. In less than fifteen minutes of singing, dancing, and talking, she has already decided that she wants to support me and my new endeavor! 

In all of the fear that I have had to deal with on this creative journey, and all of the overwhelming negative thoughts I’ve had to surmount around my writing ever amounting to anything, there still remained this stubborn little idea in my mind that I could not dismiss. The idea that even though there are people who swear by finding your target audience, using complex metrics of data analysis to advertise in certain places and in certain ways to grow your following, marketing funnels and best practices for posting, hashtags this and engagement that, there was this stubborn little idea that, actually, I should just do whatever the heck I thought was right and people would like what I was doing for their own inexplicable reasons. That human interaction with art is incalculable. Data unknown. That sometimes even the ‘powers that be’ really have no idea what is going to resonate and make a tremendous impact. 

And here was my proof. I could not feel more perfectly placed in that particular moment. This lovely and kind woman was validating my wild notion that people wanted to support me and my art just because that was what they wanted to do. And what’s more, just like that, she became my first follower. When I set out that evening, I had already planned to begin the next day by organizing all of my hand written blog posts so that I could start expanding this project. Now, with a delightful and passionate follower, I had someone who was watching me. Eager to read what I had written. Someone to hold me accountable for moving forward regularly. It was the perfect boost to my already growing wave of artistic motivation. I could not have asked the universe for a better gift that evening. 

And the perfect presence of this amazing woman continued to bestow me with presents. She was currently working in tech and amalgamating her knowledge and talents to create her own project. She had been researching the field and gave me incredible insights into tactics to build my brand. Novel ideas and well researched insights. Delivered one after another. Not only was she supporting me with her excitement for my project, she was telling me how to pull off my wildest dreams. 

Throughout our conversation, her companions had slowly been disappearing. We watched as one slowly grabbed her purse and tottered off to the bathroom to be sick. My new friend and her remaining partner in crime surmised that this was probably the end of the night for this crew and they had better head into the ladies room to check on their friends. So, we said our good byes, exchanged numbers, and smiling from ear to ear, full of hope and excitement for my future, I wandered back in the direction I’d come from and out into the night.