Put It down

This summer, I helped my Brother-In-Law carry a large box, containing the pieces to build a large chair, into his home. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was unwieldy, and it definitely required two people to move. Almost as soon as we crossed the threshold, I said, “I need to put this down!” My grip had slipped and I was worried I was going to drop it. As it was, it sorta slip-slid-fell onto the floor, but no toes were lost. No hard wood floors were scratched. And though the box was a bit dented, it was just cardboard, so it was ok. 

It was ok because when I realized I wasn’t capable of holding onto it anymore, I said “Stop!” So my BIL did. We stopped. We put it down. Since my grip was the only thing that needed adjusting - I wasn’t tired, or incapable of picking it back up - I got a better handle on the box, and we moved it to the place where it was intended to go.

When moving large and/or heavy objects, it’s good to go into it with a plan. Where are we taking it? Are there stairs involved? Who is going to be walking backwards? (Someone inevitably has to walk backwards.) Do we have clearance through the passageways to get it through? Where are the best places to put our hands to get a secure grip on it? And let’s go slow. Let’s go steady. Let’s listen for any changes.

When moving large and/or heavy objects, listening is so important. Yes, listen for, “Stop!” but also, listen to what a body is telling you. Did your lifting partner’s cadence switch? Are they taking slower steps? Did they pause at the threshold? How’s YOUR grip? What’s YOUR body saying? 

Sometimes we want to just power through, but when someone else is involved with the lifting, you really do have to tune into all that is said, and unsaid, and move in such a way that you, the person(s) moving with you, and the object remain as safe as possible.

In that order. You. Them. The thing. 

It took me longer than I want to admit to learn the “things aren’t as important as people” lesson. There are many bookshelves out there in the world. There’s only one you. And sure, it would suck to watch your grandmother’s antique sideboard cascade down the stairs and shatter into a million pieces on impact, but sincerely: Rather it than you. 

And that can be avoided - most of the time - if you communicate and prepare and are honest about your ability and capacity to lift the cumbersome thing in the first place.

Shortly after I moved said piece of furniture, I was having a hard and heavy conversation with a friend. (Something that has seemed to be a theme in most of my relationships this past year.) With the all of the everything that is the general layout of the world these days, conversations often include topics that are heavy, and unwieldy, and cumbersome. 

That are valuable. That are dear. That need a place to go.

And in the midst of it all, I flashed on moving furniture. It became inherently obvious that I needed to put this conversation down. Right now.

No matter how well you prepare yourself for heavy lifting, sometimes your grip will slip. Or you will underestimate your stamina. Or a stair will be three inches shorter than the rest of the flight, and you will stumble unexpectedly - because all stumbles come unexpectedly - and you will lose your balance. 

And in that moment you will need to stop. Right away. Because to continue on would be unsafe.

And I wonder, do I do this with people? Do I ever say, “I need to put this down for a second. It’s not safe for either of us for me to be holding this right now. I need to take a break. I need to adjust my grip. I need to clarify our plan on how we’re going to move this and where we’re moving it to. I’m still able and willing to do that with you, bur right now, I need to put this down.”

Because people ARE more important than things. And it’s important to be able to have heavy conversations in ways that are safe. To be able to say “stop” or any variation of it, loudly and clearly. Stop right now.  Right away. I need to put this down. To take care of you, first. Them, second. And the thing - be it a table or a topic - third. 

And just like moving a couch, often in conversation it’s easy to resist the urge to stop. To instead just power through. It’s easy to ignore the cues your body is giving you - clenched fists or set jaw or tears forming - it’s easy to power through the conversation because it’s just talking and what’s the worst that could happen? We make light of our feelings, often, because they’re not as easily visible as a crushed credenza. But damage is still done. 

 If I power through moving a couch, I could herniate a disc. If I power through moving a conversation, I could herniate my heart. And both, we can agree, are best avoided.

In both cases, both things - my brother-in-law’s chair and my friend’s conversation - got to where they were supposed to. The pause provided that. Saying “stop” when it was necessary let me move forward safely, when I was ready to do so. And both things gave me the opportunity to lean in to listening to my own capacity for moving things that are heavy. To take ownership of my role in the process. And to let myself take as much space and time as I need to help with the lifting, in a way that is safe. For me. For them. For the thing.

In that - always in that! - order. 

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. 💚

-A