What's important...

09.27.07

It has been a beautiful Sunday morning in the country. I just got back from a nice run with my dog, and as I came up over the last hill on our dirt road, the leaves were falling and the sun was almost up. It looked like a scene from Bridges of Madison County. Mr. Munch, the Scottie, was trying to chase the leaves and all I could hear was the sounds of my footsteps and our combined heavy breathing. I think, “This is what it’s all about. This is why we’re put here on Earth.” And for the last few minutes of our run, the world is in harmony and my life is in order.
When we get back into the house and subsequently collapse on the cool floor, the mediocrities of everyday life come rushing back. I realize I have to call my old doubles partner, Tara, to make sure we’re still on for lunch today. I have to call Dr. C’s wife to make sure this morning is still okay for her boys’ piano lessons. I should start looking for an article to use for my paper in Dr. Jebsen’s class. This is definitely not what it’s all about. During all of this worrying and planning, Munch is sitting all of his toys at my feet. He’s a clever little guy.
I’ve had a hard week. Last Saturday, my mom and I went out to an old friend of hers to help out because his fifteen-year-old daughter’s leukemia has returned. Her old friend is also the president of the bank where I work, and she dated his older brother and was best friends with his younger sister. It’s a small town. While we were there, an aunt started talk about the support our town gave Sarah. She said, “Friday night, after the football game, an announcement was made about Sarah’s leukemia. Both football teams joined hands at the fifty-yard line and said a prayer, and the entire stadium joined in. Afterwards, about one hundred people came out here and just stood in the yard, waiting to talk to Sarah and wish her well. It was amazing.” On the drive home, my mom said, “While she was talking, I realized again that this is why I came back here. You don’t get this everywhere.”
She’s right. Our little town has its misgivings- there’s a lot of gossip, a lot of “everyone knows everyone,” and also a lot of “everyone’s related.” But at the end of the day, the people here understand what is important. They understand unity; they understand what it means to love thy neighbor as thyself. Everyone spends the first twenty or so years of their lives trying to leave, but we all come back home. Here I am, my second year in college, and I’m living at home so I could keep my job at the bank, watch my little brother grow up, be a good mom to Mr. Munch, keep giving piano lessons and tennis lessons… so I could keep my connections here. Because these connections are for life. These are the people that have mattered to me for as long as I could remember, and I try to keep in touch with all of them.
After seeing Sarah and her resilience, and especially after seeing her family’s pain, the trivialities of everyday life seem incredibly unimportant. I have called my best friend, who moved to San Diego after freshman year of high school, a little more often. I understand now why adults are always saying, “life just gets in the way.” Life does get in the way. The logistics of flying across the country for two working college students really isn’t very good. But, like Danielle said, we always manage to keep things together. I haven’t been annoyed when my students haven’t practiced. After all, I threw fits when my mother tried to make me practice when I was younger. I haven’t crunched the numbers for CD rates and stock market influxes like I usually do at least weekly. One shot for Sarah’s leukemia costs one hundred thousand dollars. I do not have one hundred thousand dollars, and all the Excel spreadsheets in the world, all of this reading about the NASDAQ, will not change that.
The sun is now completely overhead, and Mr. Munch is waking up from his post-run nap. I will make my necessary phone calls, and do a little tug-of-war with Munch. I will try not to get mad at my boyfriend for stupid things, and I will try to rub Munch’s belly more. Most importantly, I will try not to forget this week, and I will try to put my life in perspective. Because, let’s face it, I really don’t have much to complain about.