FIT@50 / Week 90 – Did You Cry?
Leah asked, “What did we do this week?” I drew a blank. Then she said, “It was a blur.”
She was right. This week, like so many weeks go by so fast that we fail to recall not as much about what we did, but what did it mean. Did we enjoy time with each other, with our kids, with friends?
It’s easy to look back at a document and measure written word productivity, social media posts, or campaign promotions started on Facebook.
Then as I sat in silence racking my brain to recall what did happen during the week. And just like that, the crazy-paced week slammed into me. The wild day of flying, driving, returning, and flying again. The 22 hours straight work to meet deadlines and promises. The caring for a sick kid even after covering you in their supper, and the long, drawn out 7 and 9 year old’s Christmas choir presentation. To name a few.
Whether it’s taxiing the crew to sports, band, ballet, or the airport, it’s about not controlling the speed at which you enter tight turns. Just hanging on and blindly leaning into the curves might be thrilling, but it’s not the best way to maneuver life’s demands.
Leah and I focus on maximizing our time. If it means paying someone to cut the yard so we can reallocate that time for working or family, then we do it. But that often means pushing ourselves and kids to a point where hitting the apex of the curve gets a bit fuzzy. In those cases, we usually don’t bother looking for the brakes. We like to power through it.
Tonight, we had to hit the brakes. It was the boys Christmas pageant. I was a little concerned once I saw their soft-sole white shoes, white sweat pants, white sweat shirts, white robe, white wings, and oh yes, their white halo.
I asked, “Are y’all really wearing that?” Both cheered. It was their school play after all.
We sat there. I was anxious to get back to something with a bit less off-pitch singing, young kids on stage crying and dance choreography led by teachers down front. I kept quiet, and even smiled as the flock of photographing parents blocked our view for a shot of their little darlings forgetting the words to everything.
Once we finally returned home, the kids had to hustle to prep for bed. I was anxious for them to get to sleep so I could get back to the endless things I had to get done. I was way too far behind to waste any more time.
The 7 year old walks up and asked, “Did you cry?”
“What are you talking about?” I bellowed.
“The music was so beautiful. Did it make you cry?” he asked with even more sincerity.
“Yes.”
“Me too.” And he scooted off to bed.
And then, I recalled the most important thing that had happened all week. I had sat in a school auditorium and listened to music so beautiful that it made our kid cry. And then, later that night, it was my turn.
Do Good, Scott