Warm Steering wheel energy

Okay. Sit with me.

Have you ever had one of those days where nothing is fully broken… but nothing is fully working either?

That’s today.

I’m driving to my MRI. Not the fancy Tesla MRI. Insurance approved it. Just didn’t schedule it. So here I am in the standard edition mystery tube trying to figure out why the left side of my body feels like it quietly clocked out without telling management.

Face. Arm. Shoulder. All of it feels off. Not dramatic. Just wrong enough to make you pay attention.

Last night I got on my horse. I teach all the time. I coach balance. I talk about body control like I have it mastered.

I swung into the saddle and immediately knew something wasn’t right.

My left side felt weak. Not sore. Weak. Like if he even thought about blowing up, I wouldn’t have had the control I normally do.

That’s a humbling realization when you’re used to being the steady one.

The lesson itself was good. The weather is turning. The barn will be full this weekend. There’s hope in that rhythm. There’s comfort in routine.

Then this morning happened.

A couple days ago my microwave died. It was a faithful, college-era warrior. It only burned popcorn when I ignored it, which feels like a fair arrangement. I mourned it briefly and moved on.

Apparently my brain did not.

Because this morning I poured myself some of the glorious full bounty from yesterday’s miraculous coffee carafe, walked confidently to the microwave to reheat it…

And stood there staring at a dead appliance like we hadn’t already had this conversation.

Grief is weird. Memory is weirder.

So instead of panicking, I poured my coffee into a saucepan and reheated it on the stove like a pioneer woman with Wi-Fi and mild attitude.

Boiled it. Poured it. Sipped it. Pretended this is how I always do things.

Meanwhile, my coffee maker remains emotionally unstable. Most days it gives me two cups from a twelve cup pot like it’s rationing for winter. Yesterday it randomly made a full carafe. I didn’t even drink it because Dan brought me coffee that tasted like burnt regret. So here I am, reheating yesterday’s miracle on the stovetop.

Tell me life isn’t comedy.

Then there’s MRI prep.

Earrings out. Necklace probably coming off. I made sure I smelled good. That felt important. Did I shave my legs? No. Absolutely not. If the MRI tech judges me, I hope they at least appreciate the fragrance effort.

These are the thoughts that occupy your brain when you’re about to be slid into a giant magnet.

And I’m driving there in a car where the seat heater doesn’t work. The vents blow cold air. I have my coat draped over my legs like I’m rationing warmth.

But the steering wheel heater works.

And for some reason, that feels like the whole message.

My hands are warm. The rest is questionable. But my hands are warm.

That’s life some days.

Your body feels off.

Your microwave dies and you forget.

Your coffee requires stovetop innovation.

Your car only half cooperates.

Your kid sends you TikToks like that’s her love language.

Your barn is full this weekend and that gives you hope.

Nothing is perfect.

But nothing has taken you out either.

Most of us are operating in this middle space. Not collapsing. Not gliding through flawlessly. Just adjusting. Laughing. Reheating the coffee. Showing up for the MRI. Getting back in the saddle even when one side feels weaker than the other.

If your life feels a little lopsided today too, welcome.

Warm steering wheel energy.

We keep going.