When you reach

your edge, soften.

Soften until you

slip through the

constraints and

can create a new

rhythm, a new

route, a new

release. Water is

soft yet powerful.

Reach your edge,

and soften.

-Victoria Erickson

So yesterday I left the gym and went right to the local mechanic to drop my son’s Jeep off to get its bells and whistles checked out while he’s away. I was there by 9:00 a.m. on the dot, and I pulled into a great spot right in front. I planned to walk home from the shop after I turned in the key, so I was distracted and thinking about what I needed to grab out of his Jeep.

I walked toward the office and did one last mental check to make sure I had what I needed. Phone, earbuds, hat, extra layer. I took a quick look back at his Jeep when suddenly I stopped in the middle of the street.

I didn’t have his Jeep. I was in my Audi. It was immediately apparent to me that I was trying to drop my son’s Jeep off for servicing without the Jeep actually being in the vicinity (mechanics have told me in confidence that this is a very difficult way to service a vehicle). I backed away slowly, back towards my car, as the stupidity of what I had almost done (well, DID do) sunk in. I hoped that no one in the office had seen me pull up, and I prayed that they were not watching me drive away. I drove home and returned with his Jeep ten minutes later with no one the wiser.

Well, until now.

A couple of weeks ago I was rushing to the Cherry Hill mall to get this one specific thing that I could only get in this one specific store. I had driven over an hour in bad traffic for this one thing, so I wasn’t in the mood to fuck around. Upon arrival I moved quickly and purposefully through the parking lot, and as I stepped towards the electronic door, my brain just assumed it would open for me as quickly as it always did.

As my nose and face met unyielding glass in a rather forceful introduction, it occurred to me that perhaps it was not an electronic door. Perhaps, I thought, it was a manual door. You know, the push-pull kind. Ah, of course, I thought. The young couple behind me who witnessed the spectacle asked me if I was alright, and I thanked them and watched them try very hard to keep straight faces. I felt gratified knowing they would probably be laughing for the rest of the day.

I keep thinking it’s going to show up on Instagram at some point.

I’ve also been having problems with automatic soap dispensers, faucets, and paper towel dispensers. There are so many different rules. Touch them on top, touch them on the bottom, don’t touch them at all. Push lever, pull lever, move lever sideways. Tap it once for cold, tap it twice for hot, tap it in the inverse order. Hold your hands two inches underneath, no, make that three inches, no, closer than that, you dummy.

Then just when you think you have the hang of the automatic kind, the old-fashioned ones appear in restrooms again, the kind that you actually need to physically manipulate. You wave your hands ineffectively in front of it to coax a paper towel out only to have the person in back of you inform you that you have to push the lever. You stand drooling stupidly in front of these contraptions remembering that there was a time in your life that you probably knew how to work them, but that those days are long gone.  

Lately I have found myself standing in front of strange sinks literally frozen with indecision and knowing full well that I lack the curriculum vitae necessary to extricate soap and water from it. When facing an unfamiliar faucet or dispenser, I give myself a pep talk:

You can do this. You’re a grown woman. You’ve borne three children, you possess five post-graduate degrees, you have had a great career. You are independent and successful and capable. You is kind you is smart you is important. Go in with no fear. Never let it see you sweat. Just just just….DO IT!

I take a deep breath and go in slowly. No rush. I even try to hum a little, so that it appears I am so casual with what is about to transpire that no matter the outcome, it will not affect my day. I reach towards the edge of the faucet, and I soften. And the water flows.

Because softening has been working for me.

I definitely had a point to this post when I thought of it last week, but all I know now is I’ve been rushing around too much. Trying too hard. When things are hectic,  my brain gets overloaded. And although they are funny stories (and honestly, it’s really a normal day for me, ask anyone. And let me know if you want to hang out, you’ll never suffer a dull moment), it’s important for me to know that when I forget to soften, things go haywire.

Sometimes we try too hard. When we relax, water flows, doors open. We must take our time in the climb,

So here’s to life and soft edges.