Sparkling Lakes
and why self checkouts are the downfall of society.
I’m attempting to train for a marathon. It’s not natural for me and I still don’t know what runner’s high is. But one day a friend came up to me and said she felt like God was going to encounter me through running.
And unfortunately, she was right.
Today I ran 6 miles by one of the lakes nearby. There was a cool breeze that was just enough to feel like relief against my skin and the sun peaking out just enough so that the world had a tint of yellow.
As soon as the lake came into view, sparkles dotted the distant waves. I took a minute to look down at my wedding ring, equally sparkly, perfectly matching the white clarity of the ripples.
How cool that God gave us sparkles.
It’s not only our wedding rings, but also clear blue lakes, freshly fallen snow, and sparks that light a campfire.
Before my Ironman training, one friend told me to try running without music. I thought she was absolutely insane. I have a playlist on my phone called, “songs to make me hate running less” to distract me from my exhaustion and resentment. But, I decided to try going without. And it was better. I was much more in tune with my body and I loved growing bored as my steps fell into sequence.
And when I run without music, I notice tree leaves and children splashing in the lake, and people barbecuing. I learn street names and breathe deeply, and say hi to strangers.
Today a man landscaping his yard smiled as I passed and remarked, “Isn’t it a beautiful day for a run?”
I watched a group of kayakers launch into the lake and smiled as kiddos did their best to paddle while being blown across the water.
It was a beautiful day. I thought about how amidst all the politics, news, and war, the lake still sparkles. And that so many days I do not notice it.
I thought about how I don’t often talk to strangers or take time to smile at kids learning to kayak. I don’t get outside and breathe deeply to take in the fresh air.
I thought about all the little delights God gives us that I miss all too often.
And I thought about how even though I don’t like running, I just now, after months of training, am getting faster. Runs are getting easier.
I’m reminded it’s a process.
And I think that it’s good for me.
I had a conversation last week with some people in their 60s and 70s, questioning why GenZ is obsessed with film cameras and vintage clothes that make them look homeless.
“It’s weird,” they remarked.
They lived through the time when they had a roll of film end up completely overexposed and dreamt of the days of digital, showing them their photo taken on the spot.
They are delighted by the innovation of two-day shipping, online shopping, and cell phones, with Google flights to book travel.
But for GenZ, all we’ve known is gluttony. We can’t quite appreciate the innovation. We grew up being able to take 22,888 photos on a 32 GB SD card, not 24 photos on a roll of film, hoping they turn out. We grew up with instant messaging, not having to send a fax or knock on the door. We grew up with the internet and GPS, mapquest a distant memory, we can’t imagine the idea of asking for directions.
But I think some of us, a few of us, are starting to realize our craving for process, for things that take time, for things that inconvenience us.
We are starting to realize that maybe convenience isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I adore the Jurassic Park movies. Ever since I was a kid I was obsessed with dinosaurs.
There’s one quote where the biologist critiques the founder for recreating dinosaurs for the amusement park. He exclaims, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should!”
I’m starting to wonder if this is the cry of GenZ. I think it’s amazing that I can order something and get it to my doorstep in two days, two hours even. I think it’s awesome I can order Doordash when I’m tired and want to introvert. How amazing is it that I can see hundreds of updates and photos from my friends all around the world, within 30 minutes of scrolling on Instagram?
But I’m realizing that just because I can, doesn’t always mean I should.
If we wanted we could get our food delivered, groceries delivered, shampoo, conditioner, and dog food shipped in two days, all while taking Zoom calls from our couch, filtered water at the sink, and any movie we want to stream after work is done. No need to go to Blockbuster, Redbox, or the library to find the movie you’re looking for. No need to talk to strangers or interact with anyone. No need to get out of your comfort zone.
People who know me well, know that if you go to the self-checkout when you’re with me, I will make a scene. I hate self-checkouts. I will half-jokingly and half-seriously remark that they are the downfall of society.
We don’t know our neighbors, don’t meet our pizza delivery guy anymore, and don’t work in person at the office. The least we can do is make small talk with the person checking out our groceries.
I get it. It’s convenient.
But I don’t know if it’s always worth it.
We all know how much less we’re walking these days and the devastating health effects it has on us. But we all live so far away from each other and why would we walk a mile when we can drive?
We know that we’re eating too much processed food, but good cooking takes simmering for 30 minutes and who has that time?
It’s human nature, we take the easiest path.
But there’s something about the patience my film camera produces in me. There’s something I love about savoring each photo, rather than taking an unlimited “free” amount of them. It’s slower, I delight in each photo, and I don’t take them for granted.
There’s something about thrifting clothes that were made to last, rather than wearing out a shirt by the time the trend passes.
There’s something about playing a vinyl where I listen to the whole album, rather than having Spotify give me a playlist of the hit songs it knows I will like. I get to know the artist and hear the story. It becomes more than ear candy, it’s art.
There’s something about walking to the farmer’s market, seeing my groceries, taking in the scent, meeting the farmers. It changes the way I eat the meal. The walk on the way home slows down my soul.
And there’s something about running 6 miles to the lake, sparkling just like my diamond ring. I never would have made it to the lake otherwise, and it feels like my reward for the hard work. I notice things I wouldn’t have. I see so much of this beautiful world because my mind is not distracted by scrolling and my hands aren’t busy with a to-do list.
When I run I talk to strangers and feel the beam of sun on my face. I breathe, heavily, and find it almost impossible not to pray. I tell my body, “You don’t rule over me,” and I keep going even when it’s hard. I take walk breaks to listen to the birds and stare at the wildflowers. Running is different than walking because it’s like an overdose of scenery. It changes so quickly. Walking is inconvenient, but running feels even more so because I never want to do it.
That friend was right when she said God would meet me on my runs.
He always has.
He speaks to me, and I pray, and I think it might be my purest form of worship. I am reminded of how weak and little I am. As I trudge up the hill with the big trees towering over me, an array of plants intricately growing together, and animals exploring the playground along with me, I realize my proper place in God’s creation. I am enthralled. I thank God for the seeds that sprout raspberry bushes and lily pads that sprinkle the shores. I thank God for children’s laughter and strangers’ smiles. Today, I am so thankful that God created sparkles, for no reason whatsoever I think other than to make us happy.
I think human beings are meant for hard work, to see a process through to the end, and to overcome. I don’t think I would have gotten to enjoy those sparkles unless I had dragged myself out of bed, trained the last few months, and followed through.
So, while I will order groceries and Doordash sometimes, I also want to walk to the farmer’s market, run around the lake, and go to the hardware store down the road to ask the owner what part I need. I will use my digital camera, but also might take out my film camera once in a while. I will listen to my Spotify playlists but might take a day to listen to an album straight through, maybe on vinyl. Sometimes I will go to the neighborhood party, but sometimes I won’t. I may download a book on my Kindle, but will also make a trek to the library.
The more I refuse opportunities for convenience, the more I cherish the ease that comes when I do have it.
I think I would miss the sparkle on the lake if I didn’t run 3 miles to get there. I think I would miss the scent of lilies if I didn’t take the time to walk instead of drive. I don’t know if I would enjoy the curry I made so much if it didn’t take chopping up all the vegetables by hand. I think there are a billion little delights we might miss because we choose convenience.
And so, despite how long the line is, you will find me waiting at the normal checkout line, excited to ask the Target worker how her day is, and every time, I find it is well worth the inconvenience.
For the One,
I love this so much Lisa!! Beautifully written.
Amazing & timely as usual Lis ❤️🙏🏼