I
saw a local radio personality at the grocery store last week. I smiled and
waved and he looked at me with a look like he was wondering if he knew me or
maybe I was just a fan. I’d met him a few times because we have a mutual friend
but I didn’t expect him to know me and I wasn’t going to shout out his name. I
try not to go nuts when I see someone famous. I’ve met a few celebrities in the
past. One time I was introduced to Ivan Dixon at the radio station he managed.
I didn’t tell him how much I enjoyed Hogan’s
Heroes or even that I admired his work in A Raisin in the Sun (which I never saw). Instead I got all star
struck and blurted out how much I loved him in the movie Car Wash. He laughed
and shook his head. I made a hasty exit from the radio station’s offices and
hoped nothing would come of it. But later that afternoon, KONI radio played the
Rose Royce song: Car Wash. It was not
in their format. I was responsible. Somebody at the station was still laughing.
So
after that I really tried to be better when I met someone famous. Don’t talk too
much, just be cool. And this past weekend it wasn’t easy to remain calm. I went
to the Storyline Conference in San Diego. I met published authors. I bought
their books and waited to get them signed. Every single author was friendly and
gracious to me. There was no line with Tricia Lott Williford and I shared a
little of my story with her, it being similar to hers. She thanked me for sharing
and I thanked her for writing her story, she encouraged me to tell mine. I bought
four books and was able to get three of them signed. The one writer I had not met
was leader of the conference, Donald Miller. His book, Blue Like Jazz is one of the most inspiring books I have ever read.
It’s encouraging and convicting at the same time and he is one of my favorite
authors.
Saturday
evening, the conference was over. My last line was to say hi to Bob Goff. He was
smiling and hugging everyone. He gave me a hug and signed my book. Then I
looked over to the line around Donald Miller. He was being swamped. I really
wished I could get him to sign his book I’d bought. But the line was so long,
and the book was in my truck anyway. Plus I was tired. It was time to go home.
As I waited out some of the traffic leaving
Point Loma Nazarene University I called home to say I was on my way. Standing
with my passenger door open I talked first to Prajna and then to Jamie. I asked
him if he’d done any writing and he said a little. Jamie loves to write too and
what little I’ve seen astounds me.
I
was about to say goodbye and someone walked by me. I recognized the plaid
flannel. I began to stutter on the phone.
“Um,
Donald Miller just walked by me,” I said to Jamie.
We
made eye contact and I waved to one of my favorite authors. He smiled and waved
back with no glance first to see if he knew me.
“I
enjoyed the conference,” I called to him.
He
got to his rented Chevy Malibu and said “See you later.”
He
said he’d see me later. I don’t remember what I said after that. I may have
thanked him, or just agreed with him. I think I said something.
I
got off the phone with Jamie. Donald Miller was in his car with the motor
running. I looked on the front seat of my truck and there was his book, Searching for God Knows What. I wanted
to snatch it up and run to him.
I
could say: “Oh, hey I’m sorry to be just one more person who does this but
could you sign this for me?”
I’m
sure he would have. But I wanted to say more than that.
“Oh,
hey Mister Donald Miller. You know, I’m an aspiring writer and, you see my
truck? That’s my truck. I drove out to the desert late last summer and listened
to the audiobook of Through Painted
Deserts and I read Blue Like Jazz
by the light of a Coleman lantern. Hey, do want to drive to get coffee or
something? I mean, could we maybe be buddies?”
But
the seconds ran by and I got in my truck. I lost sight of his car in the
traffic. I was tired and I had just been attending
the conference. How must he feel? So as much as I wanted to, I also understood
that folks need their privacy. And I sure don’t like random people starting
conversations with me. The poor guy may have just needed to get away.
I
sat in traffic and thought. Maybe I could have just gone over with my book and
asked him to sign it and then thanked him. Was I afraid I would make a fool of
myself like I did with Ivan Dixon?
I
drove off the campus and into the wet San Diego night, still thinking. Donald
Miller, Ivan Dixon, the local radio personality, and me, all just people. I
don’t need to go to a guy who wrote an awesome book and ask him to be my
friend. He has enough friends.
Maybe
I’ll attend more conferences and keep reading his books and never get to shake his
hand. Instead of letting that thought disappoint me, maybe I should try to inspire
a few people myself. There are lots of regular folks who might enjoy a cup of
coffee. Maybe we could even wash a car together.
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