On the Other Side of Chaos
The good folks at Crayola in Forks Township, Northampton, Pennsylvania, sure did get “Spring Green” right.
More on that in a minute.
A recent workday at the home office was anything but according-to-plan. I couldn’t connect to the company’s server remotely, had a poor sleep-deprived IT colleague with a head cold troubleshooting just as the sun was coming up, and on that thin edge of a tough decision, ended up not going on the morning walk. I don’t need to tell you how much that skews my day toward madness (in case you missed it, I just came close to admitting that routine is essential to my well-being).
Project deadlines that had been whispering due dates in my ears were now full-on banging their fists against the door, but without a remote connection, their document drafts were held hostage at the gates of a malfunctioning login. Plan B consisted of errands in Columbus involving two banks, our company’s off-site printer to fetch a rushed-through order of colorful labels for a bulk mailing that ABSOLUTELY HAD TO GO OUT FRIDAY and picking up a former patient’s dress shirts to be made into bears for the grandchildren (see “What are you Wearing?” for some context on that). The exclamation point at the end of that mad-dash would be a final drop-off of those labels and shirts at headquarters before heading back to the home office to see if IT had been able to repair the broken bridge between my files and the server. Toss in there somewhere a weekly patient review meeting (which I join by phone) and finding one of the kittens in the bathtub playing with a field mouse just as I was leaving the house. I scooped it up and left it trembling in the mulch in front of the living room windows to regain its composure when another kitten came out of nowhere, pounced and finished the job (I sent a feeble apology upwards and sighed in the direction of the kitten now licking his whiskers). I was behind the wheel over the lunch hour and hit the drive-thru at Taco Bell between stops (a decision I’d come to regret later in the afternoon. Mouse karma?).
I can’t recall the last time I had a stretch of “typical” days, characterized by a fairly predictable unfolding of familiar events. It’s not all high-end drama, this life I’m living, but when the to-do list crashes and burns like it did last week, I’m grateful for my punting skills and the grace of teammates who understand the good intention of promises made atop the sometimes thin ice of technology that we all take for granted. It was only a slight consolation to learn most of those teammates were having the same remote connection trouble. I defaulted to a legal pad, my favorite pen and my memory, rocking it old-school style for the rest of the day. Work got done and I’m still employed. That was probably always going to be the outcome. It’s good to remember that.
The game-changer for me that day, though, was the commute home from the main office. It’s a quick run through a charming neighborhood in a small town, then a two-lane road through farms and fields freshly turned, patches of woods and a glorious dip into a valley framed by two panoramic hilltop views. In the winter, it’s a white-knuckled gamble making it down one steep grade and up the other, especially in the dark when the asphalt shines menacingly with black ice. It doesn’t help one’s morale either, passing that cemetery on the left before shifting into low and making the rapid descent toward the bridge that crosses the misleadingly-named “Dry Creek”. But now, with April in full swing, that pass through the valley is a moment marked by wonder and deep appreciation for that split-second rolling perch at the top of heaven, a sweeping view of emerging life in all its tender newness. I look up and around, and from a distance, the trees are fuzzy, their winter-worn brown branches softened by a slow-motion dressing of leaves. “Spring Green” from Crayola’s 64-pack was surely inspired by this scene, and now I’m drifting back to my coloring book days at the dining room table, mouth open and tongue moving over my lips randomly as I concentrate on keeping it between the lines. Torn carefully from the book, this one’s going on the fridge. Mom smiles and tells me how much she likes it and in that moment at six years old, I’m a walking hymn to happiness. From employed adult to first-grader in a flash, just by shifting my gaze to the wider view. The equation out of a rough start to the day looked like this:
Color + Wonder + Memory = Perspective.
Next time it’s all falling apart, remember that. And go find your crayons.
