It dawned on me, in the dawning light, that I'd left for my bike ride ill-prepared for the morning chill. Not that a 50-degree morning is anything but "bitterly cool," still it makes for some uncomfortable riding, especially without gloves. For a moment I thought of turning back, but my early-morning brain said otherwise, "Go on, you'll survive without them." And so I did.
About half-way up the hill on which my sites were set I noticed another all-too-familiar feeling: a flat tire. Ugh! There's something about getting a flat tire that forces a new perspective. Suddenly there is no choice in life: stop and fix it. In this case, no big deal--it was less than 15 minutes and I was on my way again (reminder to self: replace that spare).
When I made it to the top of the hill I remembered.
See, I'd forgotten all about my cold hands. The redirect of a more urgent problem took my attention away from the potential of discomfort. And my hands weren't cold at all, just a little greasy from the tire change.
As I flew down the hill it occurred to me--how very much of my life I spend worrying about things that will never happen, making contingency plans for troubles that will never come to pass, and hardly ever noticing how little control I have or the glorious view I'm missing while I'm wringing my greasy hands over nothing.
"Consider the lilies. They neither toil nor do they sow, yet..."
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