Story of an umbrella
and the split-second decisions we make
The morning, someone asked if I had an umbrella she could borrow. She’d just done her hair, was about to go out, and it was raining.
My mind went like this:
I have two umbrellas: one big, one tiny.
Should one get broken or not come back, the big one would be the most impractical loss. It’s sturdy and strong, and can fit three people under it.
The tiny one is already a bit broken. It opens fully, but only extends halfway, so you have to hold it right under your chin. It fits in my jacket pocket. It’s been across the world with me more than once. It belonged to my mother.
The person asking was catching a bus into the city. The big umbrella would be cumbersome to carry, and more likely to be left behind.
But the tiny one belonged to my mother.
“Yes,” I said. “The handle is a bit short, but it works.”
“I need it back,” I added, even though it sounded silly to say out loud.
It’s just an umbrella.
“Of course, thank you so much!” she said, her face lit up with relief. “I’ll give it back later today.”
So I have a big, strong, practical umbrella here at home. And a tiny, slightly-already-broken umbrella, somewhere out in the world without me.
As I handed it over, I tried not to pause, to take one last look at it and its pretty pattern, just in case. I tried not to show that it’s not just an umbrella. Because it is just an umbrella.
It is. It also isn’t.
I know I could have said no. This is always an option, and a valid one.
But it didn’t make sense to let this person go out in the rain when she didn’t have to. When I was able to help.
Sometimes we make these split-second decisions because they are the right thing, in that moment. Even as we are flooded with thoughts and emotions, all in a few seconds or long after, or perhaps not at all, we make it. We act.
However we act, whatever the outcome, it’s all we could have done.
From a rainy afternoon,
Amy
