What Happened Today Wasn’t the Point

What notable things happened today?This morning, like most mornings, began in a swirl of familiar movements—getting the kids ready, checking for socks and combed hair, full water bottles, packed backpacks. We left early, picked up a donut, a small treat tucked into the routine. My son caught his bus, and my daughter and I came back home. Just a normal morning. Until I opened my laptop.

I hadn’t dropped it. I hadn’t misused it. I just opened it, and the hinge caught, forced itself beneath the screen in some mechanical misalignment I didn’t predict or cause. I heard the crack. Watched it bloom across the bottom corner like a spiderweb frozen in time. And something old in me wanted to rise. That part that, years ago, would have seen this as the beginning of a spiral. The cracked screen would have shaped the rest of my day, pressed itself into everything else, tinted it with that anxious, overwhelmed fog. But that’s not what happened.

I paused. I breathed. I noticed the damage and I didn’t pretend it didn’t matter—but I also didn’t let it matter more than it needed to. I moved toward a response, not a reaction. I found an old phone screen protector and cut it to fit, laid it carefully over the crack, like a small offering of care to something broken but still working. I stabilized the hinge with duct tape. Not elegant, but intentional. Not a fix, but a gesture of staying. I left the laptop open, told myself I’ll wedge it if I need to, made a plan to back everything up to a hard drive. I adapted, because that’s what I do. Not out of panic, but from a place of grounded presence. I didn’t collapse into the old fear that everything is too fragile. I chose how I would move. I set the tone.

And yes, it does matter. I can’t afford to buy a new laptop right now. That weight is real, and it sits in the back of my mind. But it’s not going to dictate the shape of this day. I still have to fix the leak in the A.C. hose of my car. Still need to re-pressurize it with Freon. Do the oil change. Handle the many, many other things already on my plate. I’m not going to let the crack distract me, or derail me. I’m not pretending it doesn’t suck. It does. Honestly, it’s kind of sad. That laptop has carried me for the last nine months. It’s where I’ve written, tracked progress, captured pieces of myself that might have otherwise drifted away. It holds more than data. It holds meaning.

But I can back it up. I can protect what matters. Most of my work is already in the cloud, and I’ll make sure the rest gets there too. If I were to lose it entirely, it would be significant—but it wouldn’t end everything. It would disrupt. But not destroy.

Sometimes the notable thing isn’t what happens, but how we respond to it. We choose not to react. We choose to pause, take a breath, and use the gift of our mind over our nervous system.