We’re capable of more than we know

Keith has been out West for a while, working on filling our freezer for the next year. While he has been gone, I have been reminded of something about farm life. The farm does not care who is home. Things still need to be watered. Something always needs mowing, moving, fixing, feeding, hauling, or figuring out. And apparently, the dogs still believe the fence is merely a suggestion.

Keith has always jokingly referred to me as “the good boss.” It’s an inside joke that probably isn’t much of a joke if you know me well. I have never been one to sit quietly when there is a plan to be made, a job to get done, or someone who clearly needs a little direction. Keith calls it bossing. I prefer to think of it as strong leadership skills.

I recently met with one of the farmers I work with in my other life. We got to talking about marriage, and he told me something his wife likes to say. She says she married a capable man. Then he said something that stuck with me: “I am a capable man because she is a capable woman.”

Boss-like. I liked that.

Over the next several days, I found myself thinking about those words, especially when Toby and Stella decided there was a whole world beyond our backyard that needed exploring. Or at least Lake James.

They discovered they could dig underneath the wire fence and push the bottom up just enough to squeeze out, so I started problem solving. My first solution was free and readily available. I walked around the farm collecting fallen limbs and piled them along the bottom of the fence to create a barrier. I felt pretty resourceful.

Unfortunately, Toby loves sticks. That solution lasted about a day.

Next, I found a piece of rebar and threaded it through the holes in the fence, thinking there was no way he could push his way underneath that. He simply moved over a few feet. At this point, it was becoming personal.

I decided I was going to concrete the bottom of the fence. Did you know bags of concrete weigh 60 pounds? I do now.

I went to Lowe’s, loaded the bags onto my cart, loaded them into my car, drove them home, and unloaded them again. Somewhere between lifting those bags and wondering exactly what I had gotten myself into, that farmer’s words came back to me.

A capable woman.

Now, I should probably mention that I have never actually worked with concrete, but I have watched the hubbs set posts before. I understood the general idea. Concrete. Water. Hardens. How hard could it be?

Those 60-pound bags felt heavier with every lift, but I kept repeating to myself, I am capable. I am capable. I hauled them where they needed to go, dumped the concrete into the holes Toby had been digging, made sure it covered the bottom of the fence, sprayed it with water, and waited.

And you know what? It worked.

The dogs stayed in. I stood there looking at my very amateur concrete work with an unreasonable amount of pride. It certainly wasn’t the prettiest fence repair anyone had ever seen, but I had figured it out.

Lately, I have been learning a similar lesson in a completely different place. I have been going through gait training with my physical therapist, and one of the biggest things she has taught me is to be intentional about how I move.

Walking is something most of us do without thinking, but physical therapy has taught me how much is actually happening with every step. When the right muscles are doing the work they are supposed to do, my whole body feels stronger. Apparently, your glutes are supposed to be doing a lot more of that work than I realized. One of mine seems to have been quietly letting everybody else pick up the slack, so we are currently working on that.

What I find interesting is what happens when one muscle stops doing its share. Other muscles step in and compensate. They work harder, things get out of balance, and eventually you start feeling it somewhere else. Gait training has taught me to slow down, pay attention, and intentionally use the muscles that should have been doing the work all along.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much we do the same thing in life. We fall into patterns. We rely heavily on certain strengths while others sit unused. We get comfortable with our roles and let other people handle the things they have always handled. Before long, “Keith usually does that” can quietly become “I don’t know how to do that.”

Becoming stronger is not always about doing more. Sometimes it is about recognizing what we already have, strengthening what needs attention, and learning to use it well.

And every now and then, life changes our gait a little.

Someone is gone. Something breaks. The dogs escape. There is a 60-pound bag of concrete sitting in the back of the car, and we have to use muscles we have not been using.

Of course, being capable does not mean we suddenly need to prove we can do absolutely everything ourselves. I recently ordered a piece of furniture that arrived in one tiny, ridiculously heavy box. Feeling pretty confident after my concrete success, I decided I could handle that too.

And I did. To an extent.

I opened the box, accounted for what appeared to be 6,834 individual pieces, matched and organized them according to the manual, and disposed of all the packaging. Those pieces are now sitting very neatly organized and ready for Keith when he gets home.

Because I am capable, not unreasonable.

Maybe that is part of a strong partnership too. We should keep building our own muscles, but we should also know which muscles our partner brings to the job. I can organize 6,834 pieces with impressive efficiency. Keith can turn them into an actual piece of furniture. Together, we are practically unstoppable.

I think that is why the farmer’s words stayed with me. A strong partnership is not built on one person being able to do everything for the other. It is two people bringing different strengths, carrying more when the other needs it, and trusting that when necessary, the other person will figure things out.

Keith can head West knowing things at home will keep moving. I can be perfectly capable while also being very happy when he comes home and starts assembling furniture.

Both can be true.

Maybe capability is less about knowing how to do everything and more about learning to use what we already have. Paying attention. Moving intentionally. Asking questions. Trying something unfamiliar. We may need to strengthen a muscle, or we may simply need to start using it.

So keep building those muscles. Physical ones, practical ones, and the ones that remind you that you can probably figure out more than you think you can. Life sure gets easier when the right muscles are doing their share of the work.

I still like having the hubbs around to handle certain things. But Toby and Stella are currently contained, the fence is still standing, the furniture pieces are organized and waiting, and the good boss handled her part.