At this point I'm pretty sure my ducks have migrated for the winter leaving behind no forwarding address, no postcard with a “wish you were here” lie, and no courtesy goodbye quack. They’re probably in some place they have no business being after wandering off course because they were distracted by some shiny object in the distance. Even if they had not disappeared without a trace I doubt they’d be neatly aligned in any amalgamation of what could be considered a row. Had my ducks ever been in a row it would have been three pregnancies, two decades, and one traumatic accident causing temporary (and possibly permanent) memory loss.
And lately my ducks are a direct reflection of everything else in my life. My mind palace has been hit by a F5 tornado, my train of thought is being driven by a squirrel, and I apparently learned time management from sage master sloth. Focus in my life has become more of a fleeting suggestion than ever before. Productivity happens in spurts and mostly by accident. Organized chaos was at one point how I described things, however, as of late organized as a descriptor has gone the way of the ducks and I am left solely with chaos.
In our society there is this pressure – sometimes spoken, sometimes not – to have it all together. A pressure to be organized, motivated, and productive ideally from the break of dawn until the dead of night. There’s an expectation that life should move in straight lines – that ducks should be in a row. But that hasn’t been my reality and I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not alone.
My life is cluttered and loud and filled with half-finished to-do lists, too many open tabs, and the constant feeling that I’m falling behind where I “should” be. But I'm here. Not neatly arranged and certainly not perfect in any stretch of the imagination but present.
However, showing up looks different than what it once did for me. It’s less about appearing like I have it all together and more about simply being my authentic and genuine self – scattered thoughts, unfinished plans, and all. It’s answering the text even if it’s three days late. It’s making the call even if every other word is um. It’s doing what I can when I can for who I can.
Because maybe having your ducks in a row isn’t nearly as important as what we have been led to believe. Maybe what’s more important is caring enough to be there with or without a synchronized group of semi-aquatic avian dinosaurs.
The point I’m trying to make is that even in the middle of the messy discombobulated thoughts and quickly unraveling plans of mice and men we still try, we’re still present, we’re still showing up and that counts for more than we give it credit for. I would argue that that’s what matters the most.
So no, my ducks are not in a row. They’re scattered, wandering, in all likelihood they’re lost all together – well not together, definitely separately lost. But I’m here and if that’s the best I can do for now then that’ll have to be enough for those who care about me because it is certainly enough for me from those I care about.