In a single moment, I knew what was most important

Karina Bland is off this week. This was adapted from a story told originally at an azcentral Storytellers event. It is the last of four parts.

Moments like this are fleeting and so easily missed when we are studying a list instead of looking at the world.

I was lucky to catch this one: A little girl in a wheelchair, a service dog, noseto-nose, joy radiating.

My tears weren’t because I felt sorry for the girl or was so moved by the therapy dog’s reaction.

They came from a deeper place. I cried because in all my panic, my worry about what people might think, this was what I was missing: the joy. Not only at the holidays but in my life.

I was so focused on getting everything right that I was doing it wrong.

I stuffed my list into my pocket. I was done freaking out about Christmas. I would worry less about what I needed to get and be more grateful for what I already had.

The beautiful weather. The smell of cinnamon and sugar in the air. The people who loved me.

That night, I cleared my gift list in the glow of my smartphone. The next day, instead of fussing over when my son and I would take a Christmas card photo together, I pulled one off my iPhone and ordered cards online.

The next year, I skipped the arts festival. The year after, I let the lady at Safeway make my tomato bisque. I stopped worrying about how cluttered the house was, just made sure the kitchen and bathrooms were clean. Because no one cares, especially if you serve enough alcohol. They’re just happy to be there. No one was judging me. Except me. It’s been six years since that day at the arts festival.

I didn’t get to be this person, with her Christmas shopping done, and her decorations up, half as many as usual, not worried about her holiday cards or cleaning her house, cutting herself some slack, finding joy in the holidays, in a single moment.

But it started in a single moment, between a girl and a dog.