I never used to think much about the future when I was young. Life was just about keeping up with the day, lesson plans, ballgames, and dinners on the table by six. But after retirement and the passing of my husband, Harold, I found myself doing the opposite. I’d sit at the kitchen table in our house in Shelbyville, Tennessee, worrying about what would happen next. What if I fall and no one finds me? What if my savings run out? What if I forget my daughter’s birthday?
Last Tuesday, I was in line at the Piggly Wiggly, frowning over the price of strawberries, when the young cashier, a girl named Marsha, said to me, “I like your scarf. Red suits you.”
It startled me, the simplicity of the compliment. I hadn’t thought about red in years. I told her it was my late husband’s favorite color. She smiled and said, “Then you should wear it more often. Little things like that, they brighten up a whole day.”
We chatted for a few more minutes—she told me how she’s saving up to study nursing and that every day she reminds herself, “One shift at a time.”
That phrase stuck with me.
Later that night, while rinsing dishes, I thought about how I’d been living the last few years like I was bracing for a storm that never quite came. And maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe life was just what it had always been: one moment, one grocery run, one conversation at a time.
Now, I make my coffee without wondering how many more mornings I have. I wear red. I keep Marsha’s phrase in my head, “one cart at a time.”
And I find that the days feel a little lighter.