There’s a million things to be done

Pack for my trip later this week

Go for a run

Check my in-box

Sweep

Oh, and the dishes in the sink

And all the things I need to read

The paper, that book about maximizing time, that medical article online

But my dog wants to go sit outside

And it’s a pretty evening

And my legs are tired

The laundry, the dishes, the fur and grit on the floor – all piles higher

I cave

We go out to the front yard

I kick my feet up in the Adirondack chair

Let down my hair

Watch a hawk hunt for his dinner

As my dog chews his stick

I take a moment and then I remember

Maybe I did get something from that book I’d started to read:

I truly realized there’s nothing I need – to do

Not every letter needs to be read through

I can face the consequences

Of not knowing the president’s plans or of fueling the neighbor’s disapproving glimpses

Of all that’s left undone today

I took small steps

Reading one chapter, working through one dilemma, running 10k

My done list brings a sense of okay

The world will carry on – with or without me

Whether I sit or sweep

Whether I close my eyes or read

Let all the information and the dirt and the in-box pile up

Like dirt on a coffin

I’ll be in the front yard with my pup, something I want to do more often

Deloading instead of downloading

Watching a giant hawk

Ever mindful of the clock I’ll never beat

But choosing to be okay

Embracing the freedom of inevitable defeat

Somehow it’s strangely sweet

In my front yard, with my pup, on a Sunday