The drive from my parent's ranch to my home in Curlew is an hour and a half trip. Driving for a good 90 minutes isn't usually that grueling but, as it turns out, I don't get any radio stations for the last 45 minutes of driving time (one of the drawbacks to living so rurally)- just static and snippets of songs:
"-----wel-come-------t-----Hote-----Californi----such a lo--ly place----------"
If you know me at all, you know that I love music and I thoroughly enjoy rocking-out to tunes while I negotiate the curvy roads of eastern Washington. That last (almost) hour of driving can be a killer without music- especially since I visit my parents almost every weekend and I am left driving home in silence alone...alone with my thoughts.
Last night, as I cruised home from Long Rifle Ranch, my car started the ascent up Boulder Creek Road and, predictably, my radio gave out. I turned it off and watched as my headlights scanned the road in front of me. With nothing but time and silence, I figured I'd spend a little of my drive thinking about and planning for this upcoming trip.
"What should I pack?"
"What else can I do to save money?"
"What can I do to ensure this adventure runs as smoothly as possible?"
"What is my next painting going to be?"
"Linen or cotton canvas?"
...etc.
...etc.
Inevitably, thoughts turned from concrete to-do lists to more abstract, vague "no right answer" thoughts like:
"Can I do this?"
"Is this possible?"
"What if I don't make it?"
Twists and turns of the road kept my Mazda's wheels turning while throughts and concerns kept MY wheel turning as well.
"What if I don't make it?" The question stuck with me, like it was riding shotgun, keeping me company on my drive home.
"Can I do this?"
"Is this possible?"
"What if I don't make it?"
Twists and turns of the road kept my Mazda's wheels turning while throughts and concerns kept MY wheel turning as well.
"What if I don't make it?" The question stuck with me, like it was riding shotgun, keeping me company on my drive home.
My mind tried to shut off the faucet of doubt pouring more thoughts into my brain,
"Stop it. Don't even think that this isn't going to happen!"
I was busy wrestling with my own insecurities when I suddenly spied a mouse in the middle of the road- two shiny little eyes.
With my car zoom-zooming ever closer towards this little rodent, I watched Mr. Mouse (I am assuming it was a HE) struggle with indecision and insecurities of his own. He'd ventured out onto the scary pavement and had stopped right in the middle- unsure whether to turn back towards the comforts of home OR to surge ahead and leap towards the other side.
"Stop it. Don't even think that this isn't going to happen!"
I was busy wrestling with my own insecurities when I suddenly spied a mouse in the middle of the road- two shiny little eyes.
With my car zoom-zooming ever closer towards this little rodent, I watched Mr. Mouse (I am assuming it was a HE) struggle with indecision and insecurities of his own. He'd ventured out onto the scary pavement and had stopped right in the middle- unsure whether to turn back towards the comforts of home OR to surge ahead and leap towards the other side.
His decision became obvious when he hesitated-like he wanted to head back but, at the last second, scurried towards the right side ditch- running full speed into the unknown.
Kind of like me.
Kind of like me.
Mr. Mouse didn't double-back, he didn't go back to the safety of where he came from, and neither will I. That rodent, for one split second, had a choice to make and he did.
Next time I am driving in the car, in silence, alone with my thoughts, "What if I don't make it?" is a question I will not entertain. Instead, I'll consider the mouse and his bravery, and remind myself that there's no room for second guessing.
And I'll devise a budget so I can afford satellite radio.
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