In the middle of a house move (and a state move, too), my weeks have recently dissolved into a frenetic, painfully long to-do list, each item somehow seeming to represent thousands of dollars more (or not) on our asking price. During a recent visit to The Home Depot as a result of my inaccurate measuring of the carpet piece (idiot!) with which we needed to recarpet our tiny living room and 16292996while the carpet installer waited back at the house twiddling his thumbs, I had a brief conversation with the guy who cut the new carpet piece, wrapped it and scooted it out the door to be loaded atop my Highlander. He was my age (so a Boomer), and had his hair caught in a long ponytail down his back. I hesitate to tell you that in case you decide to discount what he said to me as a result of it but maybe only aging boomers working at the Home Depot really have the  time to parcel out life advice and wisdom. In any case, as I stood in the wide aisle tapping my foot and looking at my to-do list and then up and down the rows of carpeting and rugs, clearly distracted and unhappy with my day, he pushed the rolled carpet on its go-cart towards me and said, “You know none of this matters, right?”
I must have appeared as the poster child for stressed-out, micro-managing control freaks. And when he told me that, so relaxed and friendly and seemingly at peace with his world of minimum wage and dealing with clueless customers all day, my shoulders just sagged in my jacket. Because I knew that. I knew that you shouldn’t sweat the small stuff. And unless it’s your health, it’s all small stuff.
            I knew that.
And when The Home Depot guy reminded me, I remembered to relax. I remembered that even if the installer guy charged me more for the wait and even if the extra carpet dinged me another two hundred bucks, what was the point of stressing over it? Since my time machine is on the fritz, it is what it is.
And the house will sell for what it does. After all the work and the careful timing, it will sell for what it sells for. And all my pessimism about the real estate market and how it’s not what it was when we bought eight years ago won’t change a thing.
Meanwhile, nobody’s in the hospital and nobody’s undergoing chemo. My 89-year old Mom is happy and healthy and living on her own. My boy is loving his first year at the University of Florida. My husband and I are healthy (and he didn’t careen down the front steps like I thought he was going to carrying that bookcase this morning), the stepkids seem happy, our siblings are all doing great.
            So what the hell??
81356358         Yeah, none of it matters. I know that. But sometimes it’s good to be reminded. As I drove back to the house, I took a moment to hit a Starbucks on the way for a latté. Because honestly, in the great scheme of things, is ten more minutes going to make the house sell better or faster? Is ten more minutes going to make the carpet guy throw down his nails and hammers and storm off?
I got the thing that matters. For now. At least for now.
And that’s all that matters.

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