Tuesday Tally and the Timelessness of the Trail

Hello friends, and happy Tuesday to you all. There is a specific kind of quiet that settles over the little blue house on Sycamore Street right around 5:30 in the evening. Mark is home, finally hanging his high-vis vest by the door after another long day at the site, and the kids are currently preoccupied with a very serious 'dinosaur excavation' in the living room rug. I’m sitting here with my robin-egg-blue journal, the one Megan gave me, trying to catch my breath and my thoughts before the dinner rush truly begins.

Today was a Miller’s Hardware day. There’s something so grounding about the smell of fresh sawdust and the rhythmic 'clack-clack' of the old register. Mr. Miller was in a particularly chatty mood today, telling me all about his latest shipment of winterizing supplies while I tallied up the invoices. I know 11:00 to 3:00 doesn't sound like a long shift, but keeping the books for a small town staple requires a level of focus that leaves my brain buzzing. It’s a good kind of tired, though—the kind that reminds me I’m contributing, growing, and keeping my mind sharp.

After I clocked out, I did something I used to avoid. Instead of heading straight to the couch, I laced up my running shoes. I’m still training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October, and today’s goal was a solid two miles. I passed Joanne as I turned the corner; she was in her usual pink bathrobe, looking deeply concerned about a few wilting petunias. She gave me a little wave, her eyes tracking my pace, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel self-conscious. I felt like a runner.

The humidity was heavy, clinging to my skin like a second layer, but I pushed through. I thought about the conversation I had with Megan at the bakery yesterday. We talked a lot about self-worth and how easy it is to tie it to a number—a number on a scale, a number in a bank account, or the number of candles I sold on Etsy last week. But as I hit my first mile marker, I realized that my worth was in the sweat on my forehead and the fact that I showed up for myself when it would have been so much easier to stay in the air conditioning.

Speaking of candles, 'Lucy’s Little Light' has been keeping me busy in the evenings. I have a batch of sandalwood and vanilla cooling on the counter right now. There is a slow, steady financial growth happening there that feels like a secret victory. It’s not just about the extra grocery money; it’s about the realization that I can build something from scratch. Nine years ago, when Mark and I first got married, I don't think I would have had the confidence to call myself an entrepreneur. Now, I see it every time I pour a wick.

When I got back from my run, Biscuit met me at the door with his tail thumping against the floorboards like a drum. That dog has a way of making you feel like a hero just for walking through the front door. I checked Emma’s backpack and found a math worksheet covered in sketches of Palomino horses. Her teacher might want more long division and fewer manes and tails, but I can’t help but admire her spirit. She sees beauty everywhere, even in the middle of a subtraction problem.

Noah, on the other hand, spent the afternoon explaining the tactical advantages of his velociraptor pajamas. At four years old, he has such a firm grasp on who he is. I want to bottle that up. I want to remember that feeling of being completely sure of yourself. Sometimes, as we get older, we lose that certainty. We start wondering if we’re doing enough, if we’re staying in shape enough, or if we’re still the same person our husbands fell in love with a decade ago.

Mark caught me looking in the mirror earlier, just checking the flush in my cheeks after the run. He didn't say much—he’s never been a man of a thousand words—but he gave my shoulder a squeeze and told me I looked strong. That little moment of feeling desirable and seen by him, even when I’m covered in sawdust and sweat, is what keeps the foundation of this marriage so solid. We are both changing, growing older, and finding new versions of ourselves, but we’re doing it together.

As I look at the clock, it’s nearly 6:00pm. The sun is starting to dip, casting long shadows across Sycamore Street. I need to go help Mark with the 'dinosaurs' and get some pasta on the stove. Tonight feels like a win. I worked, I ran, and I remembered that I am worth the effort I put into myself. It isn't always about the grand gestures; it’s about the two-mile runs and the hand-poured candles and the way we choose to show up, day after day.

I hope you all found a small victory today, too. Whether it was a quiet moment with a cup of tea or finally finishing a project you’ve been putting off, I hope you feel the strength in your own stride. We are all works in progress, and that is a beautiful thing to be.

I love you. — Lucy