We won’t always remember the days. But we’ll remember the moments. The good ones. The great ones. And yes, the awful ones. But that’s okay. Because life needs a favorable mix to keep us grounded.
I’m kind of a worry wart. It’s part of who I am. And more times than I’d like to admit, I let it get the best of me. With this kind of onerous thinking, I’ll get hung up on the lousy rather than let myself be lifted by the laudable. I’m not a pessimist. I don’t habitually anticipate the worst or have a gloomy disposition. And I don’t believe my misfortune outweighs my blessings. In fact, I feel I’m quite the contrary. I’m a huge dreamer. I live by my faith. And I know that real life is all about teachable moments that bring us to our knees. But despite that, I often let myself get worked up over the small day-to-day things. You know the book titled Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it’s all small stuff? Well, mine would be called it’s okay to sweat the small stuff because that’s the real stuff. Don’t look to me to promote that book {even though it currently sits on the shelf in my office}. It has some excellent realizations and substantial advice. It’s just that I’m not very good at being the one to echo those sentiments. I can’t legitimately tell someone else to just let the little things go when I can’t do that myself. So I leave that to my husband. He’s usually the one talking me off the ledge. And by dramatic ledge, I really just mean the curb.
For real. I’m obnoxious, like that. I practically hyperventilate when the lady in the minivan ahead of me in the pickup line sits idle and doesn’t proceed forward when the car ahead of her moves up. Leaving this huge gap. I mean, there are a dozen cars behind her waiting to pull forward. For what? To wait again? Yeah. Pretty much. So what’s the big deal? There isn’t. It’s just me always in a hurry. In a hurry to do what? Come home and finish folding the laundry and then start dinner? Yeah. Exciting stuff. But if I don’t keep up then my family won’t have clean clothes AND they’ll starve. Seriously? #facepalm
Yep. So that’s me worrying about the insignificant day-to-day stuff. Okay. So it might be a lousy example. But I can’t lie. That exact scenario and those exact ludicrous thoughts have consumed my inner monologue on more than one occasion. Life is filled with small stuff. Big stuff. And lots of stuff in between. But I handle the big things with a lot more grace and a lot less drama. It’s weird. I don’t know why. But it’s probably because I’m not going to remember that darn lady in the pickup line {who am I kidding? Yes I am. I just did. Because it’s always the same one. Nearly every day}. When it comes to the important moments, these are the least. It doesn’t matter that she’s too busy playing Candy Crush on her phone to notice the long line of cars behind her. Trying to get their kid picked up so they can go on with their day. What matters is the handsome boy who hops into the front seat when I pull up to the school. The one who always has a smile on his face. The one who still innocently tells me about his day and asks me how I’m doing. THESE are the moments. The good ones. And then when my daughter randomly giggles at seemingly nothing in the back seat and my son and I exchange a look that just makes us laugh on our own. Well then, THOSE are the great ones.
Weakness for Words 