Life Is Like a Bucket

Early each morning, no matter what it is I have planned for the day, or if there is inclement weather outside, I walk a mile down my road and back. It is a winding and scenic route parallel to the Blanchard River that always exudes tranquility. I am fortunate to have such effortless access to this natural tonic.

Walking is therapeutic for me. Within minutes, my footsteps and breath get into their comfortable rhythms. The fluster of thoughts in my mind settle, reorganize, and re-introduce themselves to me one at a time whilst I walk toward the rising sun. The thirty minutes it takes me to complete my route I have reserved for reflection and repose. I gain new perspectives, let go of unnecessary worries, and replenish my enthusiasm. Walking (especially because my job requires so much sitting) is the most influential part of my morning routine, skipping it would be like driving a car with a flat tire, something would feel off.

One might think that walking the same path day after day would become boring, but I have found that it provides a nice balance of familiarity and novelty. The destination is always the same, as is the means to get there. Not having to think about where I am going provides relief and room for other thoughts. I can easily sink into a meditative state. I look forward to the changes, subtle or drastic, that each day generates; spectacular sunrises, thick fog, freezing rain, still air. I might see bald eagles roosting, deer grazing, herons fishing, geese migrating. Maybe a tree has recently fallen, or a new empty can of beer has joined the others in the ditch. Every outing is diverse with experiences, as are the thoughts and feelings which accompany me for the ride.

One chilly morning, I found something especially memorable. In the distance, a pale grey bucket was lying on its side to the left of the road; this was not unusual. People seem to prefer my road for abandoning bags of trash, scrap materials, or live cats. Aside from the annoyance that stems from noticing litter, my initial thought was: ‘nice bucket.’ As I got closer, I thought about what I might use it for (it even has a lid!). I started to plan my immediate future around this bucket, brushing any skepticism I had to the side. I claimed it before I even knew what it contained.

When the bucket was at my feet, I felt pressed to face my reservations about it. Mainly, who would rid themselves of a perfectly good container unless it had been…Tainted? The fact that the lid was still on the bucket was another red flag. I nudged it with my foot and could feel the weight of the innards shift around inside. Images of the bucket’s conceivable contents transitioned in my mind like the slides to a PowerPoint Presentation. ‘How bad could it be?’ was the last thought I had before prying off the lid. My olfactory system was first to register what that hard plastic cylinder had been masking: the pitiful corpse of a skunk. I instinctively backed away from the scene as my desire for the bucket waned. Confused and disillusioned, I resumed my walk.

“That’s life,” Is an adage I have found myself saying more of lately. At times, I will even try to sing it like Frank Sinatra. This short phrase suggests acceptance and lightheartedness. I am reminded that much of life is unexpected, I have little control over what happens around me, but total control over how I react. I resist having vivid expectations of the future to save me the grief from when things turn out differently, and to keep me from leaving the present. I choose to accept every experience I am given, find the humor in it if I can, listen to its lesson, and move on. Life is like a series of buckets along an individual’s path. Do not be afraid to deviate from the course and find out what is inside of them, they will not all have dead skunks.