Tales from the Caprock

Sometimes things just don't seem very interesting or important. Ideas I have on Monday lose their vibrancy on Tuesday. "Oh that's just stupid," I say to myself. "Nobody cares about my take on sports. My writing is just not that interesting. I have no depth." And so on and so forth.

It's funny how my confidence can go up or down so effortlessly. A mere puff of wind can send me plummeting from the highest ladder of Feel Good. It can also raise me up, wind-born on a single compliment.

I conducted an experiment last week. Every time I started feeling low or anxious or...yes, low...I imagined myself rising above it all, high above the situation. Like an invisible helium balloon was attached to my shoulders, lifting me above the stress and anxiety and irritation of the moment. And it worked. I was able to remove myself from those attachments and connections that bind me to earth. I did indeed rise above it all.

When my son was in Iraq, people used to ask me how I handled it. In other words, they were asking me how I lived through such a stressful and potentially heartbreaking thing without losing my mind. And I would reply, "Denial." I just didn't think about it. I didn't allow myself to go "there." I carried on with my life, the best way I could. I was having to take care of myself then, learning how to be on my own. I was trying to survive, too, in my own way, just like my little boy was struggling to survive every day in that war-torn country. No comparison at all, I know - his experience and mine. I'm just trying to explain myself and how I felt, how it was for me. Denial. Some people might have interpreted it as "doesn't give a shit." And I understand that. But they were wrong. Everyone handles trauma and fear in different ways. I did what I could to live through it without losing my mind. My little boy. My baby. Even now, thinking about him there, makes me cry. I feel so fortunate, blessed and lucky that he came home alive. Denial. I did what I could.

Some parts of Texas are so beautiful. They are all connected. The beauty rolls effortlessly from highway to highway, changing with each mile, county to county. All connected. I don't even notice the exact point where West Texas plains become Hill Country. It just suddenly is, without my permission, not heralding its arrival, not saying adieu. What a wonder, I say, what a beautiful world you are.