Small Things

I know we are super far behind on our blog posts, writing this right now we are in Phoenix, which means you still haven’t heard about St. George, Lake Powell, Phoenix, Cochise Stronghold, Tombstone, and Phoenix again. It doesn’t matter, you can’t fire me, I’ve already quit! But I’m breaking out of our linear logging of adventures because there are so many things that happen, that you see, that are amazing, and frustrating, and funny, that don’t fit into our narrative the way it’s been written. So there is this. No pictures, so if you are only here for the pictures, go cry in the corner, and learn to read already.

Every year, for as long as I’ve ever paid any attention, fall has been too short. The air gets crisp but is still warm in the afternoon, the leaves change into all the colors so you drink them in every second you can knowing they’ll be gone in the blink of an eye. For me, fall has always been the golden cottonwood leaves that completely blanket the ground, the leaves that take ages to move into piles, played around in, moved into piles again and bagged up.  That smell, of sweet rotting leaves everywhere you go. That is fall. This year, we left Denver as the leaves were starting to change, and everywhere we’ve been since then, the cottonwoods are vibrant wearing their gold, shining in the crisp autumn sun. Everywhere. It’s November 29th, and the cottonwoods in Phoenix are changing, eternal change.

That’s what the small things give us, they give us a short look into the little things that are the same while everything else changes. A shower is a shower, a small thing, a ritual, a moment. But how about the shower itself? Is it clean? Is the water hot? Is it too small to turn around in, or is the towel hook where your towel gets soaked? You never think about these small things until everything around them changes. Eternal change.

What about the big things that are really small? A fight with a loved one, big and stressful and painful. But short lived and not big enough to extinguish love. A car, big and expensive and covered by insurance and a way to feel freedom, and completely replaceable and small. A voluntary change to your lifestyle, like quitting your job, selling your house and hitting the road, big and scary and maybe lonely and far from home, yet reversible and temporary and small. Small change in a big box.

And how about the changes that are small things, but really big? In the landscape of eternal change I’m talking about the small things that change everything. Like the baby, growing in my belly. It’s tiny, the size of a green toy soldier, not even big enough to make my stomach bulge. But it’s the biggest thing ever, and I can’t even feel it. The small things that are this big change the other small things so much. Now the ritual shower must be clean, not too hot, and at least a half-hour long. Now the fights with loved ones are shorter and filled with tears and hugs. The lifestyle you chose is reviewed with eyes that only look forward far into the future instead of the next small adventure.

Eternally changed, by a very small thing.