BB Grey–musings

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How do I unwind after a demanding day?

I sit.
I breathe.
And sometimes—I remember.

Back in 2008, when the Great Recession was battering my business and life felt like it was unraveling one invoice at a time, I developed a small ritual. After a long day—clients yelling, banks circling, friends and subcontractors losing homes—I’d pull into the driveway, turn off the engine, and just sit in the quiet cab of my truck.

The hum of the world would fade there. For a few minutes, I wasn’t the contractor fighting to stay afloat—I was just a man in a still truck, holding onto the only peace he could find.

Inside the house, behind the curtains, were three little reasons to pull it together—aged 4, 7, and 8. I’d see the blinds twitch, hear the rustle of small feet scrambling for a better view, and then the muffled voices: “Mommy! Why is Daddy just sitting in his truck?”

She’d always say something kind—something to bridge the gap between my decompression and their wide-eyed excitement: “He’s finishing work so he can leave it behind and be with you.” And their anxious waiting would turn to joyful squeals when I finally stepped through the door.

Arms around my waist, voices overlapping, stories tumbling out like fireworks—about bugs, best friends, school art projects, spilled milk. That chaos was the holiest sound I knew. That front-door greeting was my reset button. I stood in it, soaking up every word, every grin, every tiny hug. That was how I unwound. That was how I lived.

Now they’re grown—two married, dreaming up families of their own, the youngest deep in graduate school. The house is quiet. The blinds don’t shift anymore. And the wife who once helped fill that home with warmth is gone, too.

But I still sit in my truck some evenings. The cab is older. So am I. There’s no stampede of little feet. No tiny voices pressed to glass. Just the quiet, and the memory.

And still—it helps me unwind. Still, it reminds me of what matters.

I think that’s the thing: we don’t always need something new to calm us. Sometimes we only need to return. To sit still. To remember we were loved well, and that we loved fully in return.

It was a beautiful chapter. I only wish it had lasted a little longer. But I wouldn’t trade a second of it. Not one.

So how do I unwind?
I just sit.
I just remember.
And I give thanks for it all.

“Be still, and know…”

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