The Cart We Don’t Notice We’re Filling

Our days can turn into trips to any store with a cart.

We walk in thinking we’re there for three things. Toothpaste. Shampoo. And that third, really important thing we are absolutely certain we will remember. 

Twenty minutes later, the cart contains two T-shirts, a set of decorative bowls we didn’t realize we needed, ice cream treats, dog toys, a candle, toothpaste, and shampoo. 

And we’re halfway home when we

remember the third thing. Toilet paper. 

Life feels a little like that. 

Most mornings, I leave the house believing I know what the day will hold.  I know what I’m teaching. I know what time I’ll get off work. I know what I’m doing afterward. Lately, I even know what I’m eating for the entire week. 

I’ve discovered there is a surprising amount of peace in planning my meals for the week. It saves money.  I eat better.  There is one fewer decision waiting for me when I’m tired. 

These are the toothpaste and shampoo in my life.  The necessities.  The things I deliberately put in the cart. 

But somewhere along the commute, other things start getting tossed in.  

A thought I’ve been wrestling with finds its way back. 

I’ve gotten much better at recognizing what I’m feeling, reflecting on why it’s there, and eventually releasing it. But “eventually” matters.  Before we release something, we carry it. 

Maybe that thought is only a pair of socks.  It doesn’t take up much room, but it’s there. 

Then comes traffic. 

Gas

An email I probably shouldn’t have checked right before the first bell. 

Those take up a little more space.

And then there are students. 

Teaching requires a strange kind of emotional shape-shifting. You can walk into a classroom carrying something from your own life and still have thirty-three people waiting for you to notice theirs. 

You teach. Redirect. Encourage. Explain something for the fourth time. Laugh at something genuinely funny. Try not to laugh at something you absolutely should not encourage. Notice the kid who suddenly got quiet. Wonder why another one seems angry. Kick kids off games and music sites because they can’t have their phones out. Try to remember who needed to talk to you after class and who you needed to remind one last time to submit something. 

It takes physical space. Mental space. 

Emotional space. And, on the hardest days, something else - the kind of space where you find yourself praying, even if you don’t believe in anything to pray to. 

Students are not a pair of socks in the cart. 

They are one of those enormous storage bins you somehow have to balance on top of everything else. And the strange thing about working with kids is that their imprint lingers. 

At night, there is almost always at least one who crosses my mind. Did I handle that correctly? Why can’t this group grasp this concept? Why is this kid not submitting what I know they completed? Why was this student so withdrawn? What am I going to do about that next class? 

Into the cart it all goes. 

Then the school day ends, but the day doesn’t. 

There are appointments. Dogs. Bills. Things that break and need fixing, or scheduling, or rescheduling. Text messages waiting for a reply. 

Some of it is wonderful. Most of it is just life.  

And one by one, they fill the cart. 

Maybe this is why we can arrive home exhausted on a day when, technically, nothing extraordinary happened. We look back and think, What did I even do today?  The answer might be: a lot. 

Not everything we carry comes with a dramatic story.  Sometimes exhaustion is simply the accumulation of a hundred small things we picked up between morning and night.  A thought. A conversation. Someone else’s sadness.  A responsibility.  A worry. A moment of joy. A problem that still lingers. A dog toy we definitely didn’t need. By the end of the day, the cart is full.  

Maybe the work isn’t figuring out how to walk through life with an empty one.  I’m not sure that’s possible.  

Some things we dump at the end of a row. Other times we don’t notice until we’re standing at the checkout, and I hear myself say, “I actually don’t need that one.” I’ve changed my mind by engaging my mind.  

Maybe it’s about becoming more conscious of what we put inside our daily cart. What belongs to us.  What belongs to someone else.  What we actually need.  What brings us joy. What is just taking up space or the idea of happiness. 

Because tomorrow is a new day, a new cart, and a new haul. Each day is a new opportunity to decide how many and which items you want to put in your cart, purchase, and carry.