I love living in the country. It’s so lively.
Amidst the hundreds of bees stocking their headquarters with baskets of mustard-yellow pollen, a medium-sized, sleek brown dog blurred past, running the wrong way toward town.
It took a second.
Was it? It couldn’t be. But maybe…
The image of the Great Dane pup I’d seen in the Crawford County Discussion Facebook group, along with the owner’s desperate pleas for help, came to mind. It had been a day since she’d last posted, but after pulling up the photo and showing it to Dave and Evelyn, there wasn’t much room to doubt we had a match.
Three trips I took, back and forth a half mile each way, pausing to dart my eyes over the snag-ridden marsh. Piecing together the puzzle of the mid-morning sun and the dog’s determined pace, I figured shade—or a drink or a dip—would be its next stop.
Either my eyes failed me, or the dog took a dogleg left into the shade of a heavily wooded, gated driveway.
The power’s out.
A car took out a power pole on the main road into town. Not only has our one-car-an-hour street quintupled in traffic, but my batteries are dwindling and I still have three sessions to go.
Thank good golly Miss Molly for hotspots.
And for this cool, fully charged LED work light with charging ports. My phone was sitting at 23%, so every little bit helped. Oooh, lookie there. In five minutes I’ve gained 3%. Things are looking up!
During my 3 p.m. session, the lights abruptly came back on.
Not knowing anything had been wrong, my client looked puzzled as I threw my fists into the air and declared, “The power’s back on!”
“I didn’t know anything was amiss,” they laughed. “You just started glowing.”
So I turned the camera and showed them my makeshift setup—the hotspot, the work light – my improvised workarounds.
By the time the power returned, I’d spent the day adapting. Looking. Solving. Rearranging.
It struck me how quickly my nervous system slips into that mode. I notice I rush.
Part of it is because I absorb other people’s expectations. Sometimes they’re spoken. More often, they’re the ones I imagine they have.
In trying to meet those needs—or avoid disappointing people—I neglect one of my own deepest needs.
Slowness. Pacing. A long, unhurried exhale.
This perceive-and-fix habit has served me well in many ways. It helps me notice things. It helps me solve problems. It helps me care for people.
But somewhere along the way, I started sacrificing myself in the process.
Maybe that tendency was handed down by the maidens before me. And while I’d gladly inherit a garnet brooch or a hundred-year-old recipe book, I’d happily leave behind the pattern of tending to everyone else while neglecting my own need for stillness.
I need to go slow, dangnabbit.
And if that’s inconvenient or doesn’t work for someone else…
Well, it works for me.
And today, that’s enough.
Love,
Me