Grey sky (Photo credit: Ableanna)
I couldn’t decide on a color.
I could say it’s a blue day. I woke up in the pitch black to drive my godmother to the airport. Her sister, my ‘aunt’ just died.
On the way back the sun was coming up but the sky was mostly gray. The air hummed to the frequency of pain and hurting. We’re not all tuned in at the same times but it’s a pitch everyone knows.
The road ahead was nothing but red tail lights, all the way to the horizon. So I got off the freeway and took surface streets. The sky turned a darker gray and the rain came.
I couldn’t decide on a color because there wasn’t any.
I still don’t know all the shortcuts and alternate routes of my old hometown so I probably didn’t save any time. Being zen about traffic is easy when you don’t have to be somewhere at a specific hour. My perspective also shifts when confronted with the sharpness of life and death. The difference of two car lengths is most likely not going to impact the bigger picture of our lives. But this is the way when our noses are perpetually to the grindstone, we tend to see only the minutiae.
There’s a meme circulating that addresses this, so there’s no need for me to reinvent the wheel today. But if you’re not in the mood to click the link, the gist is that our lives are like mason jars, and the important things are like golf balls, everything else is a grain of sand. If you fill your life with the small shit first there will be no room for anything else, but if you put the big stuff first there’s still enough space for the sand to settle.
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