Pivot

There’s a scene from the sit-com, Friends, that always makes me laugh. The one where they try to move a couch up flights of stairs and Ross coordinates and oversees the effort. The word “pivot” gets thrown around a lot with chaos and hilarity ensuing. My bestie and I enjoy referencing this one and she teases me a bit (gently, and with a whole lot of love) that I use the “pivot” technique as a coping mechanism.

While she was here for both visits, I’d get overwrought with tears and grief and then I’d change the subject quickly with some non-sequitur or goofy observation. “Pivot!” she’d say with a twinkle. It’s so true that it makes me chuckle now thinking about it.

The rain, the sunshine, and the heat have meant that my backyard lawn has grown gangbusters. Another thing confronts me that Bryan normally took care of. I once asked him to teach me how to use our mower, but he had the same sense of ownership over the lawn that I do over the laundry. I don’t know why. Just the way it was. Now, the thought of doing this chore that I should be able to do no problem paralyzes me. Pivot. I don’t have to. There are neighbors and teenagers and folks willing to do it for cash or cookies. Sold!

I have to figure out how our irrigation system works. Maybe this will get outsourced as well. Pivot. I don’t know. But this sense of “I have to do it allllll by myself” is horseshit. (sorry, Mom) I can’t. And I won’t.

Pivot.