Never Not Amazed: Don’t borrow trouble

I’m borrowing trouble.

I’m borrowing so much trouble that I’m overwhelmed, I’m not returning it, and the fines are compounding.

I believe in possibility. I believe in the power of people when they show up in the best way they can. I believe kindness is a constant. I believe all of that and I’m still swirling down the doom drain, joy slipping through my fingers.

I’m falling into the O’Mara family hobby that I’ve avoided my whole, entire life until now: catastrophizing.

Here it is October, which might as well be January. I just paid $5.69 per gallon for fuel oil, and since Maine’s cold winters last until June, it’s just the first of many wallet-busting fills. And the good news channel on my TV hasn’t worked in months, so if you see a flat screen floating in Potts Harbor, I might have thrown it into the waves because I couldn’t look at it for another second.

I should start calling it a day at 4 p.m. because I can already feel winter’s darkness. I must rebuild my joy reserves ASAP.

I defy anyone who gets into line at Frosty’s, behind a child waiting for the donut that will make their day, to not be charmed. We once hit Frosty’s at exactly the right time and Nels gave us twists, hot out of the magic donut machine, covered in glaze, cinnamon and sugar. We were going to grab and go, but that hot, sweet twist demanded we slow down and take a seat. We savored. I danced in the booth.

My car delivered a surprising boost of joy. I discovered a built-in program that rates the driver’s skills in real time and awards stars for proficiency. I’m a five-star driver! Roger — dear, sweet Roger — only rates four stars.

I played pickleball on the Brunswick courts one Saturday morning with a big group of people I met because years ago, I gave pickleball a try. We filled up one whole row of courts, chatted between games, mixed up teams and laughed. I ran to Hannaford afterward and waved at all the pickleballers doing the exact same thing. It’s almost enough to make me understand why people show up with shovels to clear the courts in the winter. Snow and freezing temperatures are no match for the love of this game.

I just spent a long weekend with friends on a beautiful Adirondack lake. We danced under a mind-boggling expanse of stars and sang all the songs we know all the words to. In that moment, there weren’t any problems — just throwbacks from the ’90s and prize-winning dance moves.

We did yoga against the soundtrack of the lake lapping against the boathouse. I didn’t get dizzy and fall over, even when looking up to watch the clouds and sun wrestle.

We laughed about stuff I can’t tell you about, not because it’s top secret, but because the hilarity relies on the moment.

We drove home on meandering back roads, through rolling fields and wind farms. We marveled at tree-covered mountains decorated with grassy sashes just waiting for snow and skiers, and at quaint, made-for-a-TV-movie small towns.

We stopped at a barn sale even though we don’t need one.

We stayed at an inn to keep our vacation vibe going; just one more night before settling back into the normal stuff. My gears grind when I switch from extraordinary to ordinary. I hate the end of things, even though I know there aren’t any beginnings without ends.

Summer snuck up on me, and I let it tiptoe right on by.

These past few months are a blur of deadlines, doctors, worry and healing. Borrowing trouble added weight I don’t need and skewed my perspective. I’m hyperaware of problems, all out of my control.

Our grass has been brown for months and the leaves are already crispy from our second year of drought. I don’t know what that means for our well. I’m kicking myself for believing fuel oil prices would drop. I wonder how many Harpswell families are worried about keeping warm this winter.

I just played keep-away with Boomer, my parents’ dog. She kept her toy pig away from me and she had a solid round of zoomies. Now she’s asleep against my leg because she trusts me to keep her safe from the bangs and barks outside. Warm, sleepy dogs are delicious, and I’m fighting the urge to grab her.

I do remember, and I need to practice, the antidote to being world-weary: taking a real inventory of my gifts. Friends, travel, a little bit of luck or a warm dog are reminders of all the good things in my bank. I need to remember that borrowing trouble isn’t my only option. There’s lots of joy to share and it’s given freely.

And this winter, when things feel bleak, I’ll buoy my mood knowing that, by an objective measure, I’m a five-star driver. And Roger is not.