Not yet, but I have the tools to find out.

20171129_184337.jpg
Alison Lester illustration…slightly purpled.

It is finished.

After wigging out, dragging my feet and hoping for other variables to magically make this decision easier, I have just submitted my insurance elections for the next year. Something I’ve been avoiding thinking about for days…weeks, at least.

Fretting about it? Worrying? Freaking out about getting it wrong?
Check. Check. Check.

Finally, I found a foothold upon which to stand…to boost my confidence up enough to tackle the task of wondering, calculating and guessing what is the better insurance option for my family of one. While driving home Monday, I realized admitted I’d left this benefit election and learning opportunity until the last minute. Once I laid that truth on the steering wheel, the weightiest fears of this decision left. Poof-ishly. And I saw that though I had not yet sorted this decision out, I had the technology…the tools to find what I needed to make my best decision.

I have a calculator or three, paper and pencil, the information from last year’s insurance and payments, and this year’s offerings.

My mind works (with sleep, exercise and peanut butter m&ms).

I could ask for help. Even if my lizard brain tells me that everyone else understands this easily but me and I’ll reveal how little I know if I do ask, I can ask. The folks I work with make this easy to ask. One person even stopped by my desk today to offer her help and a magnificent smile…a grade-A grin.

And as the automatic lights go out around me and I sit in the darkness, another truth hits:

None of us really know what’s going to happen with anything.

We are all doing our best.

We are lucky to have people who look out for us and let us look out for them.

There are so many brave and courageous examples out there: kids who fly to an unventured continent to start new lives and jobs in yodeling places; kids who stand resolutely on their yes to marry as other bits of their world shifts and the day draws near. Sisters and brothers-in-law who try something new; best pals who live out adventure and anyone who reads directions.

You are my heroes.

The people who keep getting up. Trying. Learning something new.

You are the people who don’t give up
or give in
or tell the world to jump off
even when the news is bad
and the map has been shredded.

You matter. You keep moving.
You make life fun in the midst of the dailies.

I’m watching you and your courage has encouraged me.

Far past insurance and claims and working decisions.

Though most terrible moments of despair have been worked through,
a few occasionally show up
unannounced and
uninvited.

I am driven to the ground wondering if my life means anything and if all the plowing through will matter once I’ve skied off my last cliff.

And then I look around with my final nano-hope
and there you are are
living your life
loving your kids
feeding your neighbor’s birds
dwelling in the mystery of the unknown

and unknowable faith

when the ridiculous are ruling the airwaves.

I see you there.
Scratching.
TP on your shoe.
Imperfect
and still standing…
or laying down
sprawling or
curled up in your hospital bed set up at home (Joshua)

and you embolden me.

You are my hero.
Heroes.

Keep pressing in and pressing on
and sounding out your vowels
learning your matrices and maths.

Weave that song or story or warmth.

Laugh and let the Frosty fly from your nose.

Kick the tire that has popped along the lonely highway.

But don’t stop being you.

You. I am watching and you give me hope.
Derring-do.

We may not know yet what it is all about,
but we have the tools to explore
ask questions
link arms
and get closer to finding out.

 


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