The jeep roared to life under me. I roll down the windows and shift into gear. The memory of driving a jeep in the desert with my brothers as children, parallel parking between grease wood bushes, always makes me smile when I drive a stick shift.
I turn in the direction of my girlie's volleyball practice and feel the wind flip through my hair, the warmth of the sun on my back as I shift again into second gear, then third. The weight of a sick boy at home, a day with a plumber ripping through my backyard and the lull of a cloudy Monday lifts quietly, slightly. I shift into fourth and tackle the hill in front of me as I focus on my breath and the gears. Down to first, second, third, second, first, stop. Only five minutes from our home to her yet it feels like "my time". The first of the day.
The rhythmic shifts steer me out of my head and into the moment. I pass a car on my right, the music blaring. Van Morrison, so I smile. The wind embraces me and I'm there. Totally there. The worries left behind.
I'm breathing the moment.
All day I'd wondered if I'm doing what I'm "supposed" to be doing. Compared to what I "am" doing.
Today I tended a cold, wrote a ridiculous check to the plumber and wondered. I cleared up a room and made lunch. I laughed, read Mr. Putter and Tabby, lay on my belly doing a puzzle in the middle of the floor and watched my two little ones turn the couch into a jungle gym. So simple. So real. So grateful.
I'm in the midst of life and it's amazing and grimy and breath-taking and some days just plain challenging. Though in the jeep, in the wind, shifting gears I realized that I was right where I needed to be. Doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing because that.is.what.I'm.doing.
Now that feels closer to my heart.