Some days I feel like my commute is so much more than simply the stretch of road getting me from home to work and back again. Today was one of those days.
As I started for home, “Blinded by the Light” blared on WXPN. A strange song at best, I found myself singing along and then critiquing the song. After turning the radio off, I drove in silence. Or what to a passenger would have been silence. The reality is my inner-chatter could not have been louder. We had a showing yesterday. We still haven’t heard anything. It was a second showing. Will our house ever sell? What if we’re stuck living in this home forever?
Yes. I think my brain can go from 0-160 faster than my car. I can somehow turn a second showing and our realtor on vacation into our house will never sell faster than Walter White makes meth. That’s the sad reality of my mind.
Needless to say, I drove along the turnpike seemingly serene to passersby while internally spinning–until we slowed to a crawl and then a stall. Snapped back into reality, I took the risk of taking an unknown exit. Weaving through construction cones, I guessed a direction only to find myself winding along a narrow road in the woods. “Great!” I thought. “I left the highway only to be lost in the middle of this serpentine.” As I slowed to navigate the turns, I noticed a doe and two fawns.
It was so simple. So subtle. Like breathing.
There was a mother deer and her two children. And for a moment the house showings, dinner menu, and child pick-up didn’t really matter.