Blurring the Lines

There was something wrong with my new GPS system – it looked like the road I was on was the only one available. Recognizing that driving and fiddling with an on-screen display can get you into trouble, my wife, Rhonda, turned to her old friends, Rand and McNally (she has always liked looking at maps).

Eventually, we found what we were looking for - a beautiful State park that was lacking in one amenity. While there was electricity at most of the campsites, water had to be carried from either the bathroom or a spigot further down the lane. I did not consider this ideal, but I rose to the occasion and carried several buckets to the camper without getting too wet.

I was glad for the short distance to the bathroom, but still I felt unsettled about the whole thing. After a hit-and-miss night of mosquitoes and interrupted sleep I rose shortly after six a.m. with the thought of showering at the public restroom. I was confident I would beat the rush – which I did.

I had begun to adapt to the minor inconveniences until a little dog appeared outside our camper later that morning. I have been told that I will, on occasion, obsess over something, focusing so narrowly that I am unable to see or consider anything else. There is, of course, a reason for that - I am trying to correct a problem. The little dog, not wanting to mess up his own campsite had instead decided to leave a mess at ours – right outside the door.

Yelling out the window, which I considered, seemed out of place with so many neighbors. I jumped from window to window inside the camper trying to follow the rude little creature back to its campsite. I pulled on my shoes with the intent of politely, but firmly requesting that the owners clean up after their dog.

When I got outside I couldn’t find the dog and the thought of going door-to-door seemed like that of a crazed man (which I was beginning to feel like). I walked around the immediate vicinity with no luck. Then I returned to our camper and hollered for a bag from ten feet away. It was obvious that I was going to have to care of it myself or risk stepping in it.

After disposing of the bag and its filthy contents I walked to the bathroom to purify myself. Using a generous amount of soap I lathered up only to discover that there was no water - the well had quit.

I returned to the camper with hands that no longer felt clean and hollered for water from about twenty yards away. Still frustrated by the series of events, I snapped and snarled at Rhonda.

After I apologized (some time later) we decided to move past the messy business of cleaning up other people’s messes and to take the long way home using mostly back roads. We set our sights on seeing interesting sites and to enjoy the journey using a slower pace.  Even though it took longer we saw a part of life that is hidden from the highways and freeways.

The afternoon was going much better than the morning. In the truck I had changed the image on the GPS by zooming out the focus. This gave me a much better perspective; I could see the bigger picture now.

In my mind I needed to do the same thing by stepping back and taking a broader view. Looking back on the morning I saw that I had blurred the lines between what was important and what was trivial. Little dogs and minor inconveniences are small matters compared to the feelings of others. Even though we can’t always see it right away there is always a higher road for us to take.