The Traveling Salesman

Wrinkled.

The best way to describe my fingers.

Saturated.

My undergarments.

Rain.

Nonstop for 9 hours as I walked door -to-door on the streets of small-town Ohio.

The Traveling Salesman.

Finally, someone answered.

The furniture, well-worn. The space, cluttered.

Thoughtfully, he leafed through my encyclopedias as he listened to my pitch.

Sincerely, he asked if they would truly help his children.

It was the question I had been trained to answer.

I glanced at the Britannicas on his shelf, knowing very-well how much he had sacrificed to pay for them.

And with my first sale of the day within arms reach and tears in my eyes, I shook my head “no”.

No, you don’t need these.

No, this is not worth the “sale”.

No, this is not for me.

And with that, I thanked him for his time and made my way back into the rain.

Face up. Cleansed. Renewed.

The traveling salesman, no longer.

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Camille Vaughan Photography

 

 

 

 

Solidarity

“We should have stopped at three.”

I stood motionless.  Awestruck at what this mother had just admitted, so honestly,  to me.

It was the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear when I asked the question, “What’s it like to have four?”

But like spinach stuck in teeth, there it was.

The ugly truth.

I wanted to hear how much better it was to have an even number of children; how life seemed incomplete until the fourth arrived.

I wasn’t seeking her truth- I was seeking validation for my relentless desire.

Until I had my fourth.

After which, I understood how much easier it is to reflect and regret, instead of look forward and wonder.

This mother wasn’t a monster.  Of course, she loved her fourth, she explained.  But life with three was busy enough.  Four felt unsustainable.

Horrified then, I now feel gratitude for her veracity.

Solidarity.

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