A doozie of a rainstorm moved into town on Saturday morning while I was working the outdoor market. In the middle of it all, I looked across the market to a neighboring vendor's tent, and I caught the eye of a dog hiding under a table, waiting for the storm to pass. The dog and I looked at each other a long time. I couldn't help but think:
I am that dog.
This week, a lot of things deteriorated. I flooded my kitchen at home. I flooded the dining room at my restaurant. Two shelves in my commercial kitchen collapsed, breaking almost every bowl I own. A bar stool fell apart. My bar printer broke. My dog got sick, I got in a heated argument with an old friend, and my kids' commitment to their tantrums was godlike.
(Truly. They deserve medals.)
Most weeks, I tackle these kinds of problems by putting my head down, forcing myself out into the tempest, and braving life's storms with exaggerated optimism and illogical stubbornness. And most weeks, it works pretty well.
But others, it pays to be the dog in the downpour.
Reader, when the lousy weather moves in, sometimes, there's no shame in just riding it out and waiting to make the next move until the storm passes. Nothing I did this week seemed to make an impact on my problems. In hindsight, I should've saved my energy and waited until the chaos died down. Next time, I will.
Or at least, I'll try.
With that, this old dog is off to bed. I'll see you next Monday. -Em