Sometimes I forget to remember that running outside in your jammies to catch fireflies as the sun streaks shades of red, pink and orange across the sky is the path to life.
In the time it took both of my kids to catch 10 each with five transfers and a wing repair, I scrubbed the dishes that had been taunting me all day. We will dirty more tomorrow, so the work will never be finished, but for tonight, I can put it to rest. It was while standing at the sink looking out the window that I noticed the fireflies glowing in the yard. Tonight was the first night I noticed them so far this summer. Maybe they’ve been there before, or maybe I just needed to notice them tonight.
“Can we catch fireflies at the cabin?” my son asked as he burrowed under the sheet in his bed, mind already full to overflowing with excitement for our upcoming vacation.
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. Settling down to sleep might be difficult.
—
“You are enough,” my husband said to me as I held my head in my hands and fought tears. It was the end to the kind of day that exhausts and discourages me. He continued to say things about how he valued me beyond my efforts to ensure we were all ready for vacation, and when I confessed that I was to the point of wanting them to all go on vacation and just leave me behind (I don’t really mean it) he didn’t get angry, only empathized with my feelings.
Sometimes I forget that what makes a memory isn’t how perfect it all was and when everything went according to plan. It’s the being together and experiencing new things and the stories we make along the way.
We will almost certainly forget to bring something along. Some part of our trip will not go as we planned. And we will still have a good time.
—
A week ago, I wanted to cancel the whole trip. Our car was going in to the body shop for repairs after a tree fell on it and all the details that had at one time felt solid were now more like ice cream on a summer day. I wanted to do what my gut reaction always wants me to do in crisis: shut it down, circle the wagons and take shelter. I wanted to lock myself in my house and not come out until everything was fixed and right. Even if it meant missing vacation.
There is enough steadiness inside of me to know that this is not what I really want. But pressing on, going about life as usual in the midst of crisis is hard. it takes the kind of gumption I don’t always have. It seems like a monumental effort, but really it’s just one step at a time, doing the next thing that comes up.
Sometimes I forget that the tasks that loom large are just made up of little chunks of tasks and chipping away at them makes them manageable.
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Sometimes I forget that I’m not in control.
Last Sunday we were at a picnic in a park when the sky showed signs of an approaching storm. We had just finished a quick game of adults-vs-kids kickball (I can’t remember the last time I played kickball) and were packing up our things when the first drops began to fall. The four of us jogged to the car and got in, hoping to make it home before the worst of the storm hit.
Instead, we got caught in a downpour that produced hail, and in my mind I was transported to the night a few days earlier when the rain fell sideways from the sky and a tree fell on our car. Just when I thought I was working through the trauma of that crisis, it was all front and center again. One way I try to deal with this is to become ultra-controlling. My husband was driving the car but I was giving him “advice” about how to drive and where. All the while holding my breath and praying we would get home without incident.
The panic stayed minimal until we drove down a road where a tree had fallen across, blocking the way. Suddenly everything looked dangerous. All the trees were going to fall on us and we needed to be somewhere, anywhere else. My husband kept calm–at least that’s how he seemed to me–and steered us toward the highway. Yes, there was a greater volume of cars but there were fewer trees and it was literally the quickest way to our house.
We made it home without incident. The worst thing that happened was we got soaked running from the car to the house because I won’t let anyone park underneath the tree that dropped a large piece of itself on our car. The storm passed quickly and we still made it to our second stop of the night–music in the park.
I could have easily said that we’d had enough for one night and stayed in. Instead, we sat outside under a post-storm blue sky and listen to Americana/bluegress/country from a band composed of members of The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. People-watching and music-listening and a kick-off to summer.
I’m glad I didn’t miss it.
—
Sometimes I forget that life is full of tragedy and loss and crisis mixed with beauty and fullness and celebration. Sometimes I forget that these things ebb and flow like the tides on the beach and sometimes they occur simultaneously.
Sometimes I forget that it’s not my job to handle everything that comes my way or that I don’t have to be the one who holds it all together. Sometimes I forget that it’s okay to fall apart and not be the strong one.
And sometimes I forget the words that I shared with my students at the end of the school year:
“Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”
That quote is attributed to A.A. Milne but there’s some discussion about that online. One of my students read the card out loud and said, “A.A. Milne? Is that you?” I almost spit out my lunch but managed to say, “No, that’s the creator of Winnie the Pooh. If I was the creator of Winnie the Pooh, 1. I’d be dead and 2. I wouldn’t be working here.”
Sometimes I forget that sentiment isn’t always taken seriously but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
What do you need to remember today?
