Taking the Long Way

It was not a great day. It wasn’t “The worst day of my life” as one child oh so dramatically put it from his personal perspective. But it sure wasn’t the day that I would have planned. Between the car dying and publicly parenting two distraught children who thought that we would be trapped at a CFA drive-thru forever and the 3-4 hour wait for a tow, it was not a great day. And I could feel my attitude beginning to curdle; especially after EA rescued the boys and I was no longer in charge of anyone’s morale but my own.

Instead of waiting in the car I walked a few blocks to a coffeeshop, found it closed, and grumbled as I backtracked then walked a few more blocks to another one. I tried to reframe things. It was not a great day, but we were okay. To be sure, a day after tornadoes had devastated Nashville and middle Tennessee, I was pretty darn fortunate. I had my health, my home, and the people I loved were fine. Many people were not. It dawned on me that dichotomy was true everyday and not just when the disaster touched down and hit close to home. Local devastation or not, I did not have any license to be ungrateful, to grouse, and let the dark nip at my mood.

I sat on that porch of the coffeeshop with my bottle of water because I don't drink coffee. I pulled out my computer and tried to push out the frustration with work. And when I found that the grumbling was still getting through, I made an effort to hone in on what was good about that day:

I was able to keep my cool and pull my kids out of a distressed spiral at that drive-thru. I was still getting things done for work. People had offered to help me when they saw me broken down on the side of the road. EA and my mother-in-law had each bailed me out in some way. A guy on 12 South said that my new shoes were cool. While waiting, I grabbed dinner at a place I like but don’t go to much. We were safe. My loved ones were safe. There was actually a great deal of good in the day. I just had to look for it and hold onto it.

When the tow truck hauled off my car in the twilight, I thought about calling someone up to pick me up. I could easily have been spirited out of this neighborhood in which I had no intention of spending a third of my day. EA and the boys were at church which was around three miles away. But it was a nice evening and it was all sidewalks and crosswalks to Woodmont. So I took the long way; I walked back instead of hitching a ride.

I’m glad I walked. I needed it. The thing I know but so often forget is when I go for a walk outside it allows me to simply be. I only go the pace that my feet can take me. I can slow down. I can be in the moment. I feel a little closer to what I think is the truer version of myself. Illuminated by moonlight, streetlight, and car light, my heart calmed down. The frustration of the day ebbed away.

A few blocks in, I started to pray. Nothing fancy. Just a simple prayer someone encouraged me to say of late. I prayed “Christ” as I breathed in oxygen, breath, and spirit, “have mercy” as I exhaled the toxicity and junk that was corroding my system. It was simple and it was healing. As I walked up the final steep hill before reaching the busy street of my destination, I sang like I did when I made late night walks across my college campus or when I passed the time when I our puppy pooped in the moonlight. The jingling keys of my dead car kept time with my sung prayers.

It kind of was a great day.