Air in the tires.

Standing on the side of my car, holding the handle of the gas pump, the man across from me said: “Your tires need air.” Having just suffered a financial challenge at work and a disappointing conversation with a friend, I realized my car and I had a lot in common. Perhaps you know the feeling.

We all travel, trying to get from “here” to “there,” and our tires inevitably get low. Maybe we realize it, or someone needs to point it out, but, either way, when our tires are low we need to look for air. For cars, we just need to find a pump. For us, however, it’s not as obvious, nor easy.

Working among artists, people who continually create and put their creations out for all to see, read, or hear, I’ve learned a great deal about keeping air in one’s tires. The very nature of being an artist requires the courage to be vulnerable, even though reactions of every kind come from every direction. Traveling through such emotional landscapes inevitably deflates tires. A wise teacher of creative folk suggests we keep a file of good reviews, uplifting notes or cards, to which we can return whenever bad reviews or un-kind remarks come our way. Such a file can restore one’s soul, can fill one’s tires.

The same is true for those seeking to live spiritual lives. Looking within and facing inner dragons, wrestling with challenging theological concepts, and giving of ourselves to others because of our faith leaves us susceptible to deflated tires. Like artists, we need places to go, people to whom we can turn, and time set apart to put air in our tires.

I imagine the same is true for all kinds of people. The banker who leads a division through a new initiative, the mother who juggles work and family demands, the teacher who gives everything to his students before returning to his family, the truck driver who pushes through his long drive to arrive before his children go to bed . . . all of them, all of us, need to find a way to put air back in our tires.

Our travels are exhausting, and the world only asks for more. It’s natural that extensive travel leaves tires low. The question is, what will we do when they get low?

Do we listen when someone points to our deflated tires?

Is there a file we can open, a person we can call, arms into which we can crawl?

If so, when did you last open the file, make that call, or crawl into those arms?