I am beginning a series of life stories surrounding my quote, " I didn't think I couldn't, so I did." Some people understand the quote, and it resonates with them, and there are a few where the quote comes across as confusing. I hope that at the end of my series, most everyone has the attitude of "I didn't think I couldn't, so I did."
I once had a friend who, two decades ago, say to me, "Cassie, I am going to have business cards made for you with various occupations printed on the card, and that way, you can just place a checkmark next to your current occupation."
It is true I have never shied away from an opportunity. As a matter of speaking, I wake up every day with the thought of what opportunity I will create today. I come by this attitude from experience, and it's from my non-conventional experiences where my saying, "I didn't think I couldn't, so I did." derived.
I have never lost the gift of the naivete of my nine-year-old self where on a perfect summer day in Missoula, Montana, you look up and think the sky is the ocean with its deep blue color, and the sun blankets your skin with warmth and comfort. As most kids did in the 70s, I played outside most of the day riding bikes, jumping rope, playing tag, or, if you have an older brother like me, obsessed with sports playing baseball for most of the day. But on this day, I sought to be creative and do more with my nine-year-old life than play. I wanted to create an opportunity.
I crouched down in our driveway made of loose rocks picking up and intently examining each stone, and I thought I could sell these rocks the same rocks our 1969 Toyota Landcruiser drove over daily. It was only a matter of presentation and the story, so I chose only the most colorful rocks with the greatest character. Perfect, smooth, and bland was not going to cut it with my rock collection. I placed each potential money-making rock with care into an empty Avon body powder tin that once housed a soft powder that glistened on the skin and smelled of fresh-cut flowers. I then replaced the lid on my full container of rocks and marched off to knock on doors to sell my hand-picked treasures.
As I walked to the end of our short driveway, I never felt an ounce of apprehension. It was more of a matter of fact I am going to sell my rocks. I avoided knocking on the doors of anyone on my street that seemed weird to me. Instead, I walked down 7th street, randomly picking houses to sell my wares. It was either a no, or nobody was home. By the time I walked a mile down 7th street to the intersection of Hiberta where Hawthorne Elementary, my school, was located I had taken a moment to pause, swing on the swing set, and rethink my approach. I was determined not to go home without selling a rock.
With purpose, I walked to the end of Hiberta and took a left onto third street. I eyed a welcoming white craftsman-style house with black shutters; this could be my yes. I walked up the cement steps to the front door. I knocked on the screen door as the main door was left open to allow air on this warm summer day. A woman answered and politely listened as I opened up my tin full of rocks while describing their unique beauty. She then asked, "How much are you selling your rocks for"? I responded, "ten cents" she then asked, "where are your rocks from" I did not think that far ahead in my sales pitch I answered that they were from my driveway. She responded with a warm smile and said she would like to buy two of my rocks. I thanked her and let her pick out her two rocks in exchange for two dimes.
I waltzed off her porch, feeling a glee and a power I had not felt in my nine years of life. I placed the lid back on my beautiful Avon tin and walked and skipped the rest of the mile home, not trying to sell another rock but ending my day as "I didn't think I couldn't, so I did."
