Crying in the Lowe's parking lot for fifteen minutes over a dead goose will really make you reassess your sensitivity levels. I didn't know the goose. I didn't know her family. And yet, there I sat, body wracking with uncontrollable sobs, overcome with emotion and unable to stop picturing that damn, dead goose.
I figure she had a family. She and her little suburban flock have long been a part of my local landscape. Their lake is a small one that's cut in half by a four-lane highway and surrounded by perfect little subdivision houses.
She and her flock made daily (sometimes hourly) pilgrimages from one side of the lake to the other, defying death and speeding Volkswagens for God only knows what reason. A flock of geese waddling across a four-lane highway has its way of slowing down traffic, but every now and then, when driving past the lake, you'll see a poor soul who has been mowed down by some careless driver.
The poor soul I saw this last time when driving by the lake threw me for quite a loop.
The tears didn't start immediately. No, we were well on our way to Lowe's and nearly to the other side of town when the dam finally broke. I kept picturing the goose and her family. I kept remembering that Canada geese mate for life. I kept wondering what her poor mate would do when he realized she was gone.
I don't know why but that solitary goose nearly broke my heart.
I realize that I felt too much in those moments in the parking lot, husband awkwardly patting my leg and telling me it would be alright, Lowe's customers curiously peering into our car at the sobbing crazy lady.
I realize that I feel too much in a lot of situations.
Whenever I think of my hypersensitivity to situations and people, I always think of that scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes. It becomes so big that it nearly bursts out of the frame.
Yeah, that's my heart. It's too big, too soft, and I feel too much. Too much pain. Too much sadness. Too much passion. Too much anger. Too much everything.
This is both good and bad.
Good, when I need to throw my entire heart into something.
Bad, when I cry over a dead goose.
Sometimes I really do wish I didn't always feel too much, especially when the pain is nearly unbearable, but in spite of that, I don't think I'd change my big, soft heart for anything in the world, because even though it's sometimes strange, even though it's usually oversensitive, even though it causes me plenty of trouble, I kind of think it's pretty special.
Hanging out with the pretty special folks at yeah write; won't you join us?
I figure she had a family. She and her little suburban flock have long been a part of my local landscape. Their lake is a small one that's cut in half by a four-lane highway and surrounded by perfect little subdivision houses.
She and her flock made daily (sometimes hourly) pilgrimages from one side of the lake to the other, defying death and speeding Volkswagens for God only knows what reason. A flock of geese waddling across a four-lane highway has its way of slowing down traffic, but every now and then, when driving past the lake, you'll see a poor soul who has been mowed down by some careless driver.
The poor soul I saw this last time when driving by the lake threw me for quite a loop.
The tears didn't start immediately. No, we were well on our way to Lowe's and nearly to the other side of town when the dam finally broke. I kept picturing the goose and her family. I kept remembering that Canada geese mate for life. I kept wondering what her poor mate would do when he realized she was gone.
I don't know why but that solitary goose nearly broke my heart.
I realize that I felt too much in those moments in the parking lot, husband awkwardly patting my leg and telling me it would be alright, Lowe's customers curiously peering into our car at the sobbing crazy lady.
I realize that I feel too much in a lot of situations.
Whenever I think of my hypersensitivity to situations and people, I always think of that scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes. It becomes so big that it nearly bursts out of the frame.
This is both good and bad.
Good, when I need to throw my entire heart into something.
Bad, when I cry over a dead goose.
Sometimes I really do wish I didn't always feel too much, especially when the pain is nearly unbearable, but in spite of that, I don't think I'd change my big, soft heart for anything in the world, because even though it's sometimes strange, even though it's usually oversensitive, even though it causes me plenty of trouble, I kind of think it's pretty special.
Hanging out with the pretty special folks at yeah write; won't you join us?
