Rambling on about taking the time, the little things, and trusting…


Every now and then, a body needs a little reminder: give yourself something small to look forward to. A good meal. A movie on the couch. A quiet cup of coffee before the world starts hollering. Time spent caring for yourself is never wasted time, even when that bossy little voice inside tries to convince you otherwise.

I suppose that is true for all of us, though I have known a few folks who seemed to have no trouble whatsoever putting themselves first. Bless their hearts, they may have been born with a deluxe self-care package installed. The rest of us have to learn it the hard way.

Lately, I have had myself more struggle days than I care to admit. Nothing too serious, I suppose, but enough to get my attention. Enough to make me sit down with myself and say, “Now listen here, ma’am, what exactly are we doing?” I am aging into a new era of me, and while that sounds poetic and graceful, some days it feels more like trying to assemble furniture with no instructions and one missing screw.

But I am an evolver. I always have been. I change, I grow, I adjust, I figure it out. Still, every now and then I get overwhelmed and fall into a funk. I do not exactly stop. I keep moving. I keep doing. I keep showing up. But I move with no real direction, like I am walking through my days on repeat, starring in my own little Southern version of Groundhog Day, minus the snow and with better biscuits.

The last couple of months have felt a lot like survival mode. Not dramatic, not tragic, just heavy in that sneaky way life can get. You wake up, do the things, answer the questions, make the calls, wash the same dishes, fold the same towels, and wonder when exactly you misplaced yourself.

But somewhere in the middle of all that, God whispered. Not in a thunderclap, not with a neon sign, though I would not have minded one. Just those small nudges that show up when you are quiet enough to notice them. I made choices. I made choices I could live with, choices that were for me. I got a new job, and so far, it has been very good for me. Part of me wants to say I am running on luck, but I know better. God has guided me, held me up, pushed me forward, and never once left me hanging.

Today, I got up and did. That may not sound like much, but some days “doing” deserves a trophy, a parade, and maybe a casserole. I moved when I could have stayed still. I handled things I needed to handle. I did a few things I wanted to do. And then I treated myself to a good meal and a movie right here at Swampy Bottom Acres, which is about as fancy as I needed it to be.

And somewhere in the middle of that ordinary little day, I found myself again. The old me. The one who remembers she is worthy. The one who knows she is blessed. The one who can look life square in the face and say, “I have got this,” even if she says it with three loads of laundry and three and a half acres that are mowed.

No, everything else is not perfectly solved or neatly decided. There are still things to handle, decisions to make, and loose ends lying around like unmatched socks. But today was a good day. A real one. A needed one. The kind of day that reminds you the funk does not get the final word.

I work the next five days, but I am going into them from a better place. Not a perfect place, mind you. Just better. And sometimes better is enough to build on.

So here is my reminder to myself, and maybe to you too… Take the time. Make the choice. Eat the good meal. Watch the movie. Listen out for the whisper. Move a little, even when the funk is trying to talk you into sitting down forever.

And as Scarlett O’Hara said, tomorrow is another day. Around here, that is not just a movie line. That is a promise, a mercy, and sometimes the only plan a woman needs.