When you're not an island
In the last two days I've been amazed, honored, and humbled by the people in my life. While I was in the middle of a sulk, being petulant and childish, other people, more loving and generous people, were rearranging their schedules to charge like knights into my life with rescue on their minds.
A couple days ago we were sweltering in late summer heat in Texas. Our attempt to correct it had met obstacles (the first air conditioner having been busted on arrival) and I was flummoxed. What was I going to do, other than put on a brave face and merrily go about my day? Clean something. Cook a meal. Distract my husband and my child from the state of things with as much grace and moxie as I could muster.
During my punch-drunk pep talk, I received word from two very generous friends that they had spare window units they would happily loan us until we're able to afford a more permanent solution. Here I am, a mere two days later, sitting in a cool room typing away without a trickle of sweat to be found.
Too often Adam and I view ourselves as an island, a little plop of land in the sea of disasters and uncertainty, rarely turning to others for help. It doesn't really occur to us. We make due. We adapt. But here, in this moment, this experience, we are not an island. We are part of a chain of islands, in the middle of the sea, all working together and pulling across the water in our little rescue boats. It isn't perfect, but when it is rough, we're a community. That is a beautiful thing.
It's humbling, to be sure. I'm grateful beyond measure and I feel like I'm the luckiest person in the world to know these brilliant heroes that ask for nothing and swiftly give. I hope you forgive my sap. I'll be bitter and angry next time.
A couple days ago we were sweltering in late summer heat in Texas. Our attempt to correct it had met obstacles (the first air conditioner having been busted on arrival) and I was flummoxed. What was I going to do, other than put on a brave face and merrily go about my day? Clean something. Cook a meal. Distract my husband and my child from the state of things with as much grace and moxie as I could muster.
During my punch-drunk pep talk, I received word from two very generous friends that they had spare window units they would happily loan us until we're able to afford a more permanent solution. Here I am, a mere two days later, sitting in a cool room typing away without a trickle of sweat to be found.
Too often Adam and I view ourselves as an island, a little plop of land in the sea of disasters and uncertainty, rarely turning to others for help. It doesn't really occur to us. We make due. We adapt. But here, in this moment, this experience, we are not an island. We are part of a chain of islands, in the middle of the sea, all working together and pulling across the water in our little rescue boats. It isn't perfect, but when it is rough, we're a community. That is a beautiful thing.
It's humbling, to be sure. I'm grateful beyond measure and I feel like I'm the luckiest person in the world to know these brilliant heroes that ask for nothing and swiftly give. I hope you forgive my sap. I'll be bitter and angry next time.
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