Pink Corduroys

My gorgeous North Carolina coast and neighbors are in the direct path of a hurricane, but I can’t think about that right now.  I’m beside myself over a pair of pink corduroys.  I’m certain they could change my life.


My best, most grounded self knows this isn’t the case, but I’ve got some other selves who are fully convinced all will be well when I make those britches mine.  Don’t misunderstand me, all is well (save for the imminent hurricane’s landfall), but those corduroys seem a little magic.

I’ve always been a sucker for the allure of a quick fix.  It’s anyone’s guess how much time and money I’ve pushed toward books, nutritional supplements, programs, and plans offering game-changing approaches for whatever I decided ailed me.  It took me a long while to see, and even longer to admit, my searches for quick fixes and panaceas weren’t particularly productive.  I’m not saying magic potions don’t exist, but the time I’ve spent searching for them could surely have been put to better use.

I finally realized my answers and remedies come after slow traipses in a forward direction, and when I’ve accepted what is and quit wishing for what isn’t.  And there’s the magic, sans potion.  The supplements, books, programs, and plans occasionally offer some structure and help around the edges, but I’ve met my biggest challenges and made my biggest changes through the small steps of tending versus the large leaps of transforming.  

That doesn’t mean I’m totally out of the search for unicorn oil or urine or whatever the day’s cure-all may be.  I can still be tempted by those things when they sneak into my view. . . the pink corduroys are a case in point.  And I might go on and get those things.  I know they won’t do much for my own or the world’s true needs.  On the other hand, pink cords might perk me up when I’m mucking out my flooded basement, coveting my neighbor’s generator or distributing provisions.  Plus, you know there’s got to be some magic in those pockets.

Whitney Cain