I had a conversation with a colleague this week. About thick skin. She's seeking it and, along my way, I have found it.
It didn't come easily. Oh yes. I've been in the office and pretended like I was going to sneeze while I suppressed a tear or 12. I've gone to the bathroom and lifted my feet to pretend I wasn't in a stall to pull it together when the other option was sitting in a cube and crying. And I have cried in front of more bosses than I'd like to admit.
But then? I suddenly didn't. Somehow with age and experience and maturity, that thick skin grew. I bucked up and pulled it together and realized that emotion didn't have to flow out every time I did or didn't want it to.
I don't cry a lot anymore. But this has been an emotional fall. Nothing that needs to be shared or discussed here, but life is full of change and we are in the midst of one. No need to worry. Truly. Brian and I are great. The kids are great.
But it has caused me to reflect. To toughen up even more. And reflect even more than that. And let the other moments happen when they need to happen.
Like driving home last night. I was just escaping in my commute. The mindlessness of too many red taillights in front of me. Listening to some pop singer, whose name couldn't possibly be their name, sing about things that, frankly, I am probably too old to enjoy listening to. Escapism at it's best. It's been a busy few weeks. (Go ahead, google my name and "Black Friday"...)
And then I saw it. Or heard it really. An old beater of a station wagon. Light blue and wood paneling and all. Low to the ground. The tires needed to be inflated. Exhaust spilled out the back. Traffic was moving at about eight miles an hour when it caught up to me. Mom and Dad in the front, kids in the back, not enough seat belts, it was like 1982 pulled up next to me.
But what really caught my eye was the top of the car. It had what we referred to as the Big Mac container on the top. If you are old enough to remember before Styrofoam was discovered to be evil, you know what I mean. Back when Big Macs came in small space age carriers of their own, they made cartop carriers that looked just like them.
As a kid, we would pile the station wagon full of kids and luggage and TVs that plugged into cigarette lighters (back when they were still supposed to be cigarette lighters) and we'd go on car trips. But on the top of the car was always Big Mac.
Whether it was full of clothes or toys or Christmas presents. It was there. The giant, 1980's symbol of tremendous family-ness.
To me, it was the sign we were about to create memories.
It passed me and my thick skin was suddenly very, very thin. And I sat there in rush hour and cried.
And I was thankful. For the Big Mac. For the station wagon. For the family in it. For the memories.
Thankful for the moments I have lived and the moments I am living and the moments I have yet to live.
Thankful.
Peace to you all this holiday season.
