My column wouldn’t gel. I crumpled another draft and tossed it in the “round file.” I shared my frustrations with my husband, Mike, always my first editor. He knows columns usually come easily to me. But during the long months of the COVID crisis — compounded by the tragic murder of George Floyd — I couldn’t concentrate on writing.
My plan was to write about beauty from chaos. I had touched base with friends on Facebook, asking where they’re finding hope in difficult times. I got enough answers for multiple columns’ worth of encouragement. But after discarding several rough drafts, I was ready to give up.
Mike shared an idea. “Could you write about people who are frustrated with themselves for not accomplishing as much as they thought they should during COVID … even though most everyone’s had lots of free time? People should cut themselves some slack.”
Sneaky Mike. His suggestion felt more like a strategy to help me work through my own perceived shortcomings. After 42 years married, he knows me well. I’m an expert at being my own worst enemy.
If you’ve finished spring cleaning, planted a half-acre garden, cooked your way through “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” and painted the entire interior of your house — all since mid-March — this column is not for you. This one is for all of us who watched every episode of “Tiger King.”
My desk overflows with paperwork. Time to pitch those Christmas cards I was going to answer before another batch hits in December. The piles of clutter on my desk should be thrown out, but right now I’m giving myself permission to let it stack up higher. I’m embracing slackerhood!
I have personal papers salvaged from the flood of 2008 (notice the paper-hoarding trend?). My plan was to laminate everything and create flood scrapbooks. Reality: Those relics are still moldering away in boxes and have possibly turned to dust. And that’s OK. Well, kind of OK. Accepting slackerhood is a nuanced process, best done one tiny step at a time.
I see-saw between embracing laziness and feeling guilty because I’m not overachieving. But recently something unexpected happened, reminding me of my true and most important purpose. To simply be kind. To show love. And to not constantly worry about what I do or don’t accomplish.
I stopped by the post office to mail tax papers. In the parking lot, I noticed a driver with handicapped license plates, jockeying to double-park in a handicapped space near the door. Was the driver trying to edge out an illegally parked car? Except the other car had handicapped plates, too. Odd.
I went inside, dropped off the mail and headed back out. The car I’d seen double-parked seconds earlier was now repositioned, parked horizontally in front of the door, blocking people’s paths. This person was not much of a parker or a driver.
As I started to circle around the car, a weak voice called out. I peeked in the car window … not too close … trying to keep socially distanced. I had on my mask. An elderly gentleman waved some dollar bills.
“Ma’am, I’m not able to get out of my car. Would you mind buying me a couple of pre-stamped envelopes?” I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Happy to.”
Talk about humbled. I’ve never had to flag someone down to ask for help with a mundane chore. This man had to strategize his way through every day, dependent on the kindness of strangers. I’m not sure why he chose me — there were others around — but I’m glad he did.
I’ll call it a God-wink. A little reminder from above that it’s the small kindnesses we do for each other that are most important — not keeping a running tally of accomplishments vs. shortcomings.
Sharon Mangas is a Columbus resident and can be reached at sharon.d.mangas@gmail.com.
