Just Drive

On Friday, my husband took a personal day to help me cope with losing the companionship (and babyhood) of our two daughters when they began all-day kindergarten this week.  We took the opportunity to get out of the house together, in the day time, which felt bizarre because usually any time we have to ourselves is at night with the kids staying at their grandparents' or cousin's house.  And I took the opportunity to drive everywhere we went, and made a point of not using assistive devices as much as possible: walking to and from my wheelchair without canes, stepping on and off a half-size curb without canes, etc.  But we didn't really venture all that far from home, and all the driving was city-street driving.

I've been thinking a lot about freeway driving, though.  Thinking about my anxieties.  I remember when I was a kid, I always got carsick on our trips to the coast.  The highway to the coast was extremely winding with many steep banked curves and dappled with so many patches of sunlight and shade that it almost had a strobe-light effect.  I suffered every time we went until I turned 16 and starting driving there myself.  Controlling the vehicle myself made a huge difference in whether I got nauseous, and I finally started to be able to have relaxed, enjoyable rides to the beach.

So I got to thinking maybe freeway driving would be like that, too.  Maybe when I'm in control of my fate somewhat, I would have less anxiety.  Today, while we went shopping with the kids, I was mulling that over in the back of my mind.  After hitting the stores, we decided to get dinner at a restaurant a few miles away.  It absolutely made the most sense that we should take the freeway there, and get there in less than 10 minutes.  But I was still thinking it over, so while I was thinking, I took the back roads and got there in about 15 minutes.

It's a difficult situation, trying to evaluate the risk of panic attacks or emotional responses and decide whether I'm ready for that step or not.  My instincts are ready, there've been enough ordinary traffic incidents to give ample evidence that my reflexes are as sharp as ever.  I am totally in control of the variety of quick motions and delicate handling that are needed to respond to sudden traffic changes, obstacles, etc.  

I know my body can handle it, it's the anxiety I'm worried about.  What if a sudden swerve brings on a crying jag like the last time hubby had to swerve?  What if there's a near-miss accident and I start hyperventilating and get all weepy?  What if the highly-weaponized vanguard from the planet Snorfblat invades in the middle of our commute home?  Okay, that last one is pretty unlikely, but no more pointless than all the other worries.  I mean, come on, at this point I'm basically worrying about worrying.

I let the whole thing simmer on the back burner while we ate dinner.  I enjoyed my blueberry pancakes with a sense of tongue-in-cheek humor:  I allow myself just about as much blueberry foods as I want because, after all, they are supposedly a cancer-fighting superfood.  Thanks, cancer!  I love blueberry foods.
 
Sitting in the parking lot while we all got loaded in the car and buckled up, I thought again of my childhood.  When I was 8, I took riding lessons, and was very excited to show my grandma how great I was doing when she came to visit us.  But while she was watching, for the first time ever, I was thrown from a horse.  I didn't yet know it as a guiding principle for many parts of life, but I did know that you were always supposed to get back on the horse when they throw you.  I was hurting and embarrassed, but I had to get back on and finish that ride.  Tenacity has always been a strong characteristic in me.

In the end, it came down to a pretty simple equation.  If it feels cowardly and is more annoying to stay off the freeway than get on it, then it's time to get back on it.  So when we left the restaurant, somewhere we've been many times before, I took the most natural route home that I always used to take.  Sometimes you have to stop worrying and just drive.  I got on the freeway.  

And it was fine.  It was ordinary and without fanfare.  Nothing unusual happened, and we arrived home safely.  Just another outing completed, just one more little victory in living our lives our way.