Random Connect Points:
Reba's Stories

Two years ago today, this unsuspecting middle aged woman walked into a Greenville bike shop intending to rent a bike for the afternoon to explore on the Swamp Rabbit Trail. In retrospect, I don’t know what inspired a bike ride or why I picked that specific bike shop other than I liked the name (Pedal Chic), the logo (whimsical yet professional), and the website said the shop catered to women riders. I had no idea that two-hour spontaneous adventure would lead to a new passion, new friends and new perspectives. When I returned from my ride that hot June 13 afternoon, I casually asked the women working in the shop about the sassy yellow bike parked out front. I wasn’t in the market to buy; I was just curious. Bikes had changed a lot in the 30 years since I last had one. It didn’t take long for curiosity to get the best of me. Within an hour, I’d tried a half dozen bikes. But I kept getting drawn back to that yellow one. It wasn’t flashy or sleek. No fancy tires or complicated handl

For so long, I thought the world was divided into two types of people – the do-ers and the dabblers. The dabblers were those people who would try something - maybe learn a little about a topic, show some interest in a sport, read a bit about a foreign city or casually pick up a hobby – but never commit to it. Merriam Webster defines a dabbler as "someone not deeply engaged with something” or "a person who follows a pursuit without attaining proficiency or professional status." To me, these people never "got good" at any of these dabbles. They just flitted and piddled their way through life. Dabbling just never felt appealing to me. Then there were the do-ers. I considered them to be the ones who were getting "it" exactly right (whatever "it" happened to be - cooking, writing, working, exercising, playing an instrument, even reading a book). As someone intimidated by these proficient do-ers who were out there "getting it exactly righ

As young people in the workplace seem to get younger faster than I’m getting older, I increasingly notice the role of traditional mentor relationships evolving to adapt to younger professionals’ inherent confidence, use of technology and varying styles of communication. Today’s young professionals have an entrepreneurial spirit that was less evident in generations past. Even those in government, non-profits and education seem to bring a spark of individualism to the workplace that we haven’t seen before. These differences among generations mean the relationships between mentors and those they advise has changed substantially in the past 25 years. I remember college advisors and professors telling everyone to find a mentor. In those days, that meant seeking out an older professional in a similar business and asking for direction, help or advice. Admittedly that was an intimidating challenge to a young professional just starting out. For my generation, professional or industry-spe

My friends and the bride I don’t even remember what was so funny the first time it happened, but it happened countless times over the course of a long weekend celebrating a friend’s daughter’s wedding. The laughter. We laughed until we cried. Really big tears. The kind that needed a man-sized handkerchief. A nd not just once. Probably dozens of times. I hadn’t felt so good in ages! I have a crowd of five girlfriends who came together 30 years ago in Washington, D.C. as young professionals, young marrieds, young parents. Our families formed a supper club connected by the shared experiences of growing up in the south, attending SEC colleges, and (for the most part) working in politics. At the time, we thought of the supper club as just a fun way for some southern ex-pats in D.C. to come together over food, football and kids. Little did we know we were starting to set the table for a lifelong friendship. Just so you get the picture … this supper club didn’t require f

The place was hopping when we peeked out from the stage door. The mosh pit was packed with anxious fans waiting for the performers to take the stage. People in the audience were milling around with anticipation. Their necks craned for a quick glimpse of the performers entering the venue. The bartenders were busy. T-shirts on the merch table were selling briskly. But…this was no rock concert at a sold-out coliseum. It was a Sunday afternoon at the Vista’s Tin Roof for Freeway Music School’s winter student showcase. The mosh pit occupants were elementary school-age siblings of the performers. The audience was parents trying to get a glimpse of their kids who were about to go on stage. The bartenders were serving up more diet cokes than fireballs. The t-shirts were reasonably priced. Still, the air was electric - the same feeling you’d experience before any long-anticipated rock concert. Back in my day, we called this kind of event a recital. You take music lessons. You suffer

Year-end invariably brings nostalgia, gratitude, melancholy and appreciation as we reflect on what we’ve gained, lost, learned and shared over the past 12 months. Over the Christmas break, I spent a lazy morning reading back over the 40-something posts on this blog (no editing allowed, just reading). Back in early 2013, I started the blog as just a filing place for my personal writing. In April this year, I decided to tidy up the space a bit and push it out publicly. The name, Random Connect Points, seemed appropriate since a common theme of much of my writing centers around the connections forged through the randomness of life. While I was a little nervous about putting my writing out there so deliberately, I'm grateful for the random connect points resulting from sharing some of these pieces here. Until yesterday, I’d not looked at the analytics and am stunned by the number of readers who have stopped by.  (If you're so inclined and would like to subscribe to get an em

Everyone has “that dream.” You know the one that lives in your heart rather than your head. For most of us, it’s a dream we logically know in our heads will never come true. But we keep it tucked in a place our hearts that holds on to possibilities - being an astronaut, wining a Pulitzer Prize, touring with the Grateful Dead. They are fun fantasies, but we don’t invest a lot of time pursuing them knowing the slim possibility of their reality. My dream is performing on the Grand Old Opry. I recognize there are several logistical roadblocks to this, starting with the fact I can’t sing. It’s not the “I sing softly in church” kind of can’t sing. It’s the “I only sing in the convertible with the top down to avoid offending others” kind of can’t sing. But it’s still fun to envision myself in front of hundreds of people … sassy cowboy boots, tight jeans, glittery top, pouffed up hair, guitar strapped around my neck, belting out with a voice that combines the best of Dolly Parton, Loretta