It is not really anything at all, but it’s something I was not anticipating today. About an hour before I had to go, I learned I had to drive downtown again and I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to go the fast way instead of the protective, slow-ass, just as scary way. Mind you, the fast way equates to arrive in eight minutes, whereas the other route probably might take twenty? Twenty-five if I have to stop and breathe heavily on the side of the road or more. It is an illogical route that exists only because I think the fast way will make me panic. Plain and simple.
The Faithful Light has been faithful, but I have been blocking her out. I have been forcefully, if passively, blocking her out because I think she could beat up any personification of fear I have or am or clutch to my chest. Mildred does not like her on a surface level, but because she is Mildred and she is me and she is the core and center, she is also incredibly dear to all of us now that we’ve given her a tiny platform. It is frightful to know there is a force in you that can rise up. That ability to lift a bus off a trapped child, that is, I think a perfect analogy to what it feels like when this faithful, good, demanding spirit is in its apogee.
There isn’t time to think, though, to invoke and court her confident presence. Work is nightmarishly busy and I lost my keys this morning (but realized I had a spare, like an adult sometimes does) and I tumbled out the door feeling harried and of course, nervous about having to do this thing I inexplicably find so damn hard. But I’d rode this way a lot recently with the boss and I knew it was a quick, straight shot. A number one bullet train right to my destination. Over the river, on a bridge, right into downtown with lanes that fed into major highways that I always fear accidentally ending up on.
So, wonder of wonders, I did it. I did it in rush hour. I left my body to do it and this sensible self who recognizes you cannot stop in the middle of the street and you have to stop when the light is red and this is happening until it’s over climbed into the pilot seat of my mind, and I held the panic shakes in check and arrived with nobody in the room knowing I just went through some major exposure therapy.
Or that after our meeting, in the dark, I trembled on the sidewalk to cross the street to the parking garage to get in my car and do it again and this voice said, why can’t this just be easy, why can’t I just have some joy in my life, and even as my eyes stung from something that I touched that irritated them, I made my way home. All the way home.
I want to go faster but I can’t go faster than I can go. But I can go.