It began with our cars. My teenagers have fourteen
year old cars. They are meant to get them back and forth to school and don’t
get too many miles put on them. Because insurance for teenagers costs an arm
and a leg, rating them on older cars with minimal coverage was a whole lot
cheaper than rating them on my car and juggling everyone’s logistical needs.
Last week, what seemed like a minor repair to my
son’s car, took over a week of waiting for a part, while at the same time my
daughter’s car was waiting (and she, not so patiently) to get into the shop to be
fixed. The ongoing pod racer sounds emitting from its engine were one thing, but
the grinding noises every time she made a turn were becoming a more serious
cause for concern. Just as we seemed to be getting their cars all figured out,
I had my own little “situation!”
One of my former neighbors from Massachusetts was
on the west coast visiting San Francisco and had called a few days earlier to
let us know she was in town. About to enter her senior year of college,
she has been an important and pivotal person in my life
for many years, and I really wanted to see her. Unfortunately, I had to cancel
an appointment I had made weeks earlier with very little
notice in order to make this visit happen. There was no question that I
wouldn’t find a way to see her. My seventeen year old daughter and I were
driving through San Francisco that morning to rendezvous with my friend when I
made a tactical driving error, blowing out my front passenger side tire.
Damn!
The road had forked into two pieces and I was in
the right lane, not sure of where to be at the divide. As I stayed right, it
looked as if the road was going to take me off course, so I looked in my
mirror, saw I had room to turn left, not noticing that there was precious
little space to make the move without hitting the beginning of the curb dividing
the two parts of the road. Sure enough, I hit the curb in that perfect sweet
spot and immediately heard the telltale pop release of air from the tire upon
impact.
I knew I couldn’t make it far without damaging the
tire rims, so I took the first turn off the busy road that was available to me…
which happened to be up a hill. But what else is there in San Francisco, but hills?
It was obvious that I wasn’t going to easily find
flat ground anywhere. Inwardly I cursed myself out for making such a stupid
mistake, while outwardly I struggled to put on an optimistic face for my
daughter.
As we were stopped at the side of the road, I
found a garage with tenant parking in a driveway and backed up into it. After
calling our roadside service and learning it might take 45 minutes or so to be
back on the road, and knowing we only had only a short window of time to see
our friend, I said to my daughter, “Let’s do this ourselves.”
She hesitated as I pulled out the equipment and
spare tire. When she saw me reach for the car manual with directions, I am not
sure what she thought!
Half paralyzed with thoughts of “Is this safe?
What if the person who lives here needs to get their car out to go to work?”, I
realized that I was only wasting time – time that could be much better spent
doing something other than being stuck in my head worrying about what “might” happen.
Car manual in one hand, jack in the other, we
figured it out.
Just as we finished installing the spare tire, the
roadside service arrived, checked our work, gave us a big thumbs up and we were
back on track. We managed to make our breakfast reservation about 25 minutes
late, and enjoyed well over an hour catching up with our dear friend. Just like
old times (minus the flat tire part).
The old me was lurking in the back of my mind that
day, wanting to feel sorry for herself and say it was all her own damn fault
for getting the flat tire. I felt her there. I knew, too, that there was a
stronger and wiser woman in this body – one that knew she could change a tire,
knew that she could create a more desirable outcome, not only for myself but as
an example to my daughter.
I have beaten myself up over so many things in my
life, and have wasted so much time while doing this damaging practice. Living
in a space of negativity and bashing myself, I can’t possibly find a creative
solution to my problem: I am too busy whacking myself upside the head! The flat
tire last week was a reminder to me that I can course correct. There is nothing
to be gained by self-flagellation, but everything to be gained by positive
thinking.
And who is to say if I really made a mistake in
the first place? Perhaps learning to change a flat tire will serve my daughter
or myself well in another situation in the future, maybe in a time of more
crisis than just being late for breakfast.
It’s amazing how your perspective and your
thoughts can make all the difference in the world, even if it’s just dealing
with a flat tire.
Namaste.
No comments:
Post a Comment