little engine
little engine
Got the rain. The train blaring through town. A family waking upstairs. And I am content to stay here today. In the basement. At the old desk. With bad lighting. Dehumidifier hum-whirring. And write.
But the older I get, the more I realize that life isn’t about wanting things you cannot have. It is about living in the moment. Making the best of the minutes. And because I have time before we must be on our way, pushing headlong into another day, I thought it best to come here. Shake loose the cobwebs. Let synapses spark. Reconnect. And put the fire into my belly again. Because there is nobody else keeping watch and accountable for this—our little engine—like I am.
Fuel was getting low.
Desire aimed in the wrong direction.
And when a man gets empty and focuses so much on what he does not have, he consumes.
Greasy food. Too much drink. Nights without sleep.
And he enters the dangerous area of running himself too hard for too long. And what nobody realizes is that this is exactly what he’s supposed to do. That it’s taken 39 years for him to figure out how to keep balance. Maintain the right direction. And from hearing and listening and seeing and observing—paying attention—so far in his short life, he knows that it is much more than making choices. Much more than following rules. And a hell of a lot more than living according to what others believe. It is intangible. But as real as the keys beneath my fingers. And it is what drives me.
Every day, we have our chance at greatness.
Leaving notes for your wife and kids in the morning. Tired. Fed up. Running late. But stopping, at least for a few seconds, to write them as they sleep so they know when they wake—again—that you love them. Appreciate them. Are proud of them.
Picking up pieces of trash on your walk to work. Giving people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the gum wrapper blew out of a car. The beer bottle fell out of a garbage can. The cigarette butt simply got away.
Opening and holding doors for people. Even though they are not smiling, have forgotten words like please and thank you.
Not bitching like everyone else waiting in line at Wal-Mart, even though you know you’re going to be disappointed with the experience you’re about to have with the cashier that hasn’t yet had her break, is tired, and that you, somehow, with your $176.00 bill is putting out. Causing great inconvenience.
Every day, we have our chance at greatness.
And sometimes it is when we stop.
When I’ve said too much too early in the morning. When I still need breakfast. To wash up. To stretch and breathe as the rain eases to sprinkles. The train is long gone. And my family brings life to this old house. With warm footsteps on the floorboards. Laughter bouncing off walls.
And I know that I will not stay here for long.
Because I have moments waiting. Just upstairs. And now, with the cobwebs cleared away, the brain firing on all cylinders, and a fire in my belly again, it is time to start my watch over this—our little engine.
~ K.J.
Copyright © 2012 by K.J. Stevens
