I used to
drive until I reached half my tolerance for driving, then drive home.
Windows down. Music loud. Or no music at all. Sun on my face. Long hair
streaming. Then short hair whipping. Satisfied in my aloneness, that warm sun,
and deafening wind were the end, not some physical, mappable location.
Later, I
met someone to brave the wind and sun with me. I no longer drove, but rode.
Windows down. Sunglasses on. Warm boy beside me. Alone in a sense, as the wind
drove conversations into my mind, but together.
Then the
dark years. These years, after marriage began, after seminary ended, these
years a deep rot set into my mind. Alone, never. Lonely, always. Dark fears,
long nights of crying, of unbearable guilt, of depression. I never adventured,
alone, or with my love. Wandering became unsafe. Exactly one corner of one
couch in my house felt safe, and only then with knees tucked up.
Today, in a
rare instance since the birth of my daughter, I had hours to myself. My
favorite ritual these days is my shower, and in that space, I felt the scar
that guided Valentine into the world. A smirk, a lopsided grin low slung across
my belly. For the first time, in my aloneness, I did not run from that scar. I
did not run from myself in busyness. Atypically, I laid no plans. I stood in
the shower, and mourned my previously pristine tummy, and smooth, sunny rides,
and untethered life. I felt a calmness in the mourning – a connectedness to
myself, and my new, rich reality.
Then, the
broken world crept in. A wayward brother broke my parents’ hearts anew – the
only means he has left of breaking mine. I read of bitter strife as the
god-family fights over who gets to eat at our table – and deliberately leaves
out many. I felt the old fears knocking. The old agonies pressing against me.
Heretical beliefs these, the ones that tell me when I’m connected, when I
experience good life, bad must happen. I pushed them aside to hold my mom
together with a good vacuuming, and her favorite, hot and sour soup. I chose to
live the entanglement of family. I lost the happy calm.
I shared my
day with my therapist, and after the staccato repeating of it, felt the
memories of my former legato drives rising into the space between us. I felt
the urge to edit. What could that possibly have to do with anything? I told him
anyway. I told him of the shower, and the scar, and the mourning, and the
contentment, and it all fell together for me.
I think my
desire to experience aloneness demonstrates great growth. Today, I lived alone,
for a few hours, and even after the confusion of a grief-packed day, the traces
of it still wafted to me, until I followed them down, and named them. I named
my choices and changes. I named the gift of aloneness. I remembered and
lingered over the sense of sun and wind.
Driving
home, I dropped the windows. I selected back ways that took me miles from the
normal path. I played the music until I could feel it, and sang it until the
world heard me. The sun. The wind. The hair. The baby’s car seat behind me. The
mom car. My new rich reality.
