Wrangler Dani

I know I’ve said this before, but sometimes I really wish that caring was easier. Or not caring. I wish I could care, or not care, as the wind may blow my fickle emotions, and that my heart would be totally even-keel, everything would be peachy, and nothing in my life would depend on my having to care or not.

But life doesn’t work like that. I don’t have a very contented husband when I don’t care about his comfort and happiness. I’m not a good teacher when I care too little about how my kids are learning, or when I care too much about the politics of working with flawed people. I’ll go crazy if I care too much about every crummy thing that may happen in politics, but if I don’t care, I’m just another apathetic statistic on How America Hit the Fan and It Was Messy. If I care too much about our struggling financial owies, I won’t have energy left to love my husband, write freelance and be grateful for what we do have, but if I care too little, we could be broke very soon.  I’m not a good friend when Adam’s long work days make me grumpy, when the stresses of caring are overwhelming.

So where’s my balance? What’s the difference between care and worry? How can I care for my fella, my horsey kids, my friends, my family, my Lord – when sometimes I feel like I can’t care for anything, and the weight of caring is too much?

I’m not sure. Now before you all get really worried about my being overly grumpy and about to un-care my hubby onto the street, I promise this is a passing dark tunnel of doom and really, I’ll be fine. But I do need some balance to my caring. I need to know how to do so in a healthy way that doesn’t compromise my own sanity, and know when to let go of such pesky emotions and let them be.  Because caring can lead us to beautiful acts of love and sacrifice, and it can also make us nuts.