I notice things in my clients that I notice in myself. One is outrunning — the quick-paced busyness of our days, counteracting the need to slow down, to be present, to listen to what we’re really trying to say.
What may need to be said is an apology. Or sitting with our fragility. Feeling the weight of not knowing what tomorrow — or even the next moment — may bring, and how terrifying that is.
Whatever we are outrunning, it isn’t the boogeyman we imagine. It’s our growth. Our salvation. Our power.
On my run into town, I passed an old vending machine with a huge Coca-Cola red panel — bubbling brown fizz splashed across the front. The founder of Coca-Cola was born less than a mile from where I’m typing, in Knoxville, Georgia — an unincorporated community of fewer than 150 people.
But that’s not what I really want to say.
What I want to share is the image that popped into my head: an old-timer country man, long married to his nagging wife, needing his nightly “drive.” Her health-conscious ways send him sneaking to this particular vending machine whenever the craving swells. There’s a jingle in his pocket. Something about the imagined version of him — his stagger up the three steps to the broad sidewalk, retrieving his extra-cold can of fizz — made me happy.
Next up: oil stains.
Grease from french fries or a hamburger, glistening where it wiped across a shirt or pants, a drip that darkens the fabric. Until a few days ago, I’d resigned myself to believing those spots were permanent.
I’m not sure what sparked the science experiment with Dawn dish soap, but I dolloped a glob onto a shirt, added some Zout and a sprinkle of OxiClean, and let it sit for a few hours. Washed it — whammo. No spot.
I did the same with one of Dave’s shirts. Poof. Gone.
Currently, a pair of running shorts, streaked with hand-swiped grease, are soaking and awaiting their plunge into the washer.
When you’re angry, do you direct it at another person and feel justified — righteous even — in their deserving to be the target?
Lastly: applying pressure to force something to happen is often less effective than releasing and allowing it to unfold.
That’s all.
Love ya.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 