Short day today. Brockport is only 11 miles by trail from where I woke up this morning — in a small patch of woods in Greece, NY. But tomorrow I’ll be spinning yarns at the Lift Bridge Book Shop here in Brockport, so the last ten days or so have been all about getting me here in time for that.
Better early than late.
I took my time getting packed up, though once I started walking, I had to make a march of it on account of the chill in the air — the temperature at dawn hovered around 45 F / 7 C. Probably too cold for Tevas, but I wore them anyway. Surprised my feet didn’t turn blue.
Once the sun rose, I slowed down again. There was no hurry. I knew I couldn’t check into the hotel in Brockport till afternoon anyway, so I moseyed. It actually felt liberating.
I talked to folks. I recited poetry. It was a fun morning — but of course, eventually I began to get antsy, wondering how close I was, how much further …
I’m convinced that if I could have spent the last week moseying all the way into Brockport, I’d have a packed house tomorrow. Partly that’s because for the first time in a long while, I slowed down enough to have an actual conversation. While walking. I mean, I matched paces with an older gentleman, and we walked and talked. But other times I connected with folks, and it wasn’t because I matched their pace. It was more like they sensed I wasn’t in a hurry. So they knew they could stop and ask where I was going, and I wouldn’t act like they were some kind of speed bump.
I’m sure there’s something to this. I’ll bet the author who leads a mosey lifestyle makes more connections and sells more books than the one who’s always on the go.
I just wish I had time to look into it, is all.
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