Carol McClain

Your Life As A NASCAR Race

The NASCAR Busch Series field at Texas Motor Speedway in April 2007 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know your life resembles NASCAR. You race at incredible speeds, near misses, exhilarating moments, crashes, boredom, re-starts.

It’s exhausting. Then the race ends and what do you have?

That’s been my life lately. Family visited my new home in Jacksboro, Tennessee. We still hadn’t adjusted to our new Southern home–we’re transplanted from the Canadian border in NY.

English: Jacksboro, Tennessee, USA, viewed from the Cumberland Trail atop Cumberland Mountain. Cross Mountain dominates the horizon. US-25W approaches Cove Lake on the extreme right. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Long Island from a plane

Days began early. Ended late. Entertainment, tourism, visiting filled each day. Then I needed to travel north for my brother Alan’s memorial. He died a year ago, was cremated, and we were going to bury him in the LI Sound.

To make things cheaper, I left with my Long Island family. Because I was so near Salem, MA I got to visit with my daughter and grandbabies. Returning to Long Island I had to hang around until we could gather on our family boat and celebrate Alan’s life.

Did I mention? I had a publishing deadline to meet, critiques to make, blogs to write, bills to pay–all while entertaining family.

It all failed. Not the the family–the work.

Almost completely failed. I did meet my deadline, but my editor didn’t get my manuscript. In the morass of her own NASCAR life, the file got buried. So maybe you can say all my busyness failed.

And the moral? How does my life concern yours?

We all hit these moments. Life piles up like a line of NASCAR drivers. Someone’s on your tail. There’s a wreck, the tedium seeps in when nothing’s happening, then the race begins again.

But what really matters? The chores or the family?

Every time something cried out for me to complete, my family needed something. I chose them. I worked the essentials (my deadline, my blog) into the vortex, and celebrated my family.

My mother’s 86. How much longer will I have her with me? My brother died at the age of 52. A good friend’s baby died at age 2. We’re not promised forever.

My husband called me every night, and I ached for him. No longer did I remember the little quirks that drive me nuts–like his insatiable corn on the cob eating or, well, I think I still have forgotten the quirks. Instead, I longed for the man. The one who keeps me company, tends to my concerns, adores me and needs my adoration. Although on hold for nearly two weeks, our reunion delighted us.

Stuff will always pile up. Do what you must to keep afloat. The rest is junk

Cherish the times with your family. They are the only things that matter.