Late at night, when firecrackers as loud as bombs echo in the distance and your dog’s whimpering doesn’t cease, you make a choice. You release him from your daughter’s bedroom to ensure she’s not disturbed by his restlessness.
But what happens when his whimpers and panting persist, and you attribute it to his extraordinary hearing being overwhelmed by the noise? Rather than stumbling downstairs in your half-asleep state, half-drunk on the sweet nectar of sleep, you have one conscious thought during this late-night ordeal: “If he really has to go, I’ll deal with the consequences later.”
As fate would have it, an unexpected a sloppy bowel movement occurs—three to four refried beany chunks in the playroom and a long smear on the cute, relatively new blue rug in the living room. Poor pup.
Your mind is filled with a myriad of thoughts and concerns, but despite the weight on your shoulders, you hesitate to share your burdens. Why? Is it because of your fear of how others might react, or perhaps a belief that they wouldn’t handle your revelations well? It’s likely a mix of both.
Your current puzzle to solve revolves around the peeling deck. Replacing boards is an option, but the existing boards, layered with fifteen coats of paint, would stand out starkly next to the new ones. So, you contemplate stripping the old ones free of their paint, requiring experimentation with your trusty sander and a tester of paint to gauge the difference between old and new boards. These tasks seem overwhelming, resembling a cruise ship-sized project that leaves your mind stuck in a perpetual state of buffering.
Your plan is to begin testing hypotheses on Friday to establish a timeline for completion, ideally before the rainy season arrives. The same urgency applies to the wet, stained, and rotting plywood over the back deck. You believe you can handle it, but deep down, you know it’s time to consult your neighbor, the roofer, for advice.
Though others may not perceive it, you feel yourself spiraling into anxiety over these tasks, mainly due to the fear of never finishing them. It’s like being trapped in task hell, with a fiery chasm separating you from the elusive hammer you need. Every time you attempt to leap across, the devil douses the flames with a fresh dollop of gasoline.
In moments like these, you rely on a simple trick: determining the next logical step. For the roof, it’s sending a text to Chuck, and for the deck, it’s trying out the sander and obtaining a new board, along with testing paintbrush techniques.
Despite the cool things you accomplish, you find yourself returning to this feeling of restlessness. There’s a pause between sentences in your life, and a lingering question hums softly in the background, unsure about the monotony of life. Oddly enough, you’re equally disconcerted by the idea of uprooting your life and tossing it to the wind. What is your natural state of being? Only time will tell, and perhaps, then you’ll find your answer.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 