Getting Rocked

"Pop!"

I shifted my eyes slightly to the right and swore. Repeatedly.

Bright and early Monday morning, a rock hit my windshield, leaving a small hole and spidery cracks radiating from it. In one of the worst possible spots on the windshield, in my line of vision.

A call to my insurance company, a recorded message, and a transfer to the company they contract with to makes glass repairs, assured me that mine was a common occurrence.

The next day, Glass Guy #1 met me at my car in the parking lot at work, confirmed that I did not just want him to prevent the crack from getting worse, that I wanted to replace the windshield. The following day, I rendezvoused in the same place with Glass Guy #2, who scanned my credit card, and did the job on site.

Back to my Monday.

Like hateful bookends, the conclusion of my workday came with a visit to the dentist. After my plea for double the novocaine (a standard request because I have very sensitive nerves, I don't care if there was a root canal in that tooth), I sat in the chair for an hour and a half while he and his assistant did their thing. He drilled. And drilled. And drilled a bunch more. They took molds of my tooth. They crafted a temporary crown. I sat the whole time, my heart racing like a rabbit, fearing that the drill would hit a nerve.

Yes, I'm a big baby in the dentist's chair.

And so I took my sore jaw home to my Mr. He was appropriately sympathetic. Boo hoo me.

Then I took a look at my Facebook page. I saw the photos of the devastation in Houston. Not rivers, but oceans of water cascading down city streets and through neighborhoods. People in boats, rafts, being rescued. Neighbors saving neighbors.

And I realized a bigger lesson, not just about the relative nature of our pain, but also about randomness. About how quickly things happen, big and little, to cause us irritation (my case) or irreparable damage (Houston).

I go along every day assuming nothing will change. That I'll go to work, come home, eat, go to bed. With minor variations, it will go on and on and on. Then the realization that something can happen so quickly without warning and apparently at random. A rock. A storm. The passing of a life.

No way to prepare. But maybe the point is to be aware of where I am now. Of all that I have. The people who make my life hum. The birdsong. Squirrel chatter. Beautiful warm days and cool weather nights perfect for sleep. Enough money to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. And so much more.

Sometimes a small rock can teach a large lesson.