A few weeks ago this would have been our post, but it just didn’t seem appropriate given the violence at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.  So today, on a much lighter note (and in recognition of the abundance of rain we’ve received lately), we present the following:

Yesterday I was scanning my list of blog ideas, trying to decide what conversation we would have this week since nothing immediate had popped up.  You see, I have this ongoing list of ideas so when something doesn’t happen that I feel would be worthy of discussion, I have readily available options from which to draw.  And although there has been much this week that would be entertaining, there has been absolutely nothing I felt comfortable sharing.  So, you were about to be regaled with the necessities of beneficiary changes on life insurance when the present beneficiary is deceased.  Doesn’t that sound exciting?

That changed when I scanned Facebook this morning and came across a post from a recently accepted Facebook friend.  She was discussing a significant loss and how, even with the passage of some time, it was still fresh and difficult to comprehend.  There was a lot of wishful thinking and some what ifs and I said to myself, “Self, there’s some good material there and a lot that I know others would understand.”  So I thought I was set, until I started driving to work.

I was passing a local convenience store when a young man in his twenties came out carrying a small plastic bag.  As he crossed the parking lot to his car he encountered a puddle, one that had formed in a small pot hole and which was directly in his path.  Without breaking stride he very intentionally stomped in that puddle with his right foot then continued on to his vehicle.  And I smiled.

I smiled because here was this allegedly responsible, semi-adult experiencing the joy of the moment.  But as I drove on down the road, my brain began to question his action.  Didn’t he have somewhere else he needed to be?  As big a stomp and as sizable a puddle as that was, he had to be wet up to at least his knee.  Wasn’t that uncomfortable?  How was that gonna work when he sat down in his car?  It was still cool and I could imagine how his cold, soggy blue jeans had to feel as he moved across the parking lot.  I bet they even stuck to his leg . . . and then I stopped and reviewed my response . . . and realized I was thinking like a rational, logical, not-any-fun-to-be-had-in-a puddle adult.  So I mentally slapped myself and promised I would not grow up.  I may be forced to grow old, but I don’t have to grow up.

Now, there are those of you who may be wondering what in the world this has to do with Death.  Well, I’m proud to say, absolutely nothing.  See, although this blog is by nature death-oriented (which makes sense with it being on a funeral home website and all), there are times we need to be reminded to focus on what we do before that point of no return.  There are times we need to be reminded that it’s often best not to force the round peg of life into a square hole.  There are times we need to be reminded to find the small joys of life—the joys of the moment—and savor them.

Robin Sharma said “Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life” and I believe he’s on to something.  Doing the same thing over and over may be comfortable and even productive, but there are puddles out there just begging for a good stomping.  Before it’s too late, take some time and find yours.

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