My dad was letting me borrow the car so my girlfriends and I could go to a concert, a very big deal when you’re in high school. I had never driven downtown before and was beyond anxious with thoughts of pending disaster on the Dan Ryan Expressway and lower Wacker Drive.
Passing up exits, getting lost, or any mishap that would result in missing the concert altogether would incur wrath and disapproval from my friends. That just wouldn’t do. I wanted to be the hero and save the day.
I thought that if I could practice and get the lay of the land somehow, it would build up my confidence and abilities. GPS systems were only for aircraft and submarines in those days, but what I did have access to was a boyfriend with a car. I convinced him to navigate, letting me drive his car to and from the concert venue on the evening before the event.
An unusual date, perhaps, but off we went. Just to be sure I had the route down cold–knowing when to change lanes so I wouldn’t miss a turn and noting landmarks along the way–we drove it twice. The next night I aced it, of course, because
I already knew where I was going.
I’ll be on the road again at the end of April. The 28th is D-day and I’m taking a brand new route to a familiar destination, inhabiting it as never before because eventually (drum roll here) I am moving to California.
Wow.
I’ve said it aloud, but never seen it in print before and this makes it very real, if not immediate. My apartment hasn’t sold yet, so there’s a lot to be done in Chicago before my final exodus, but I can’t pack boxes until it’s under contract and the anticipation is, to say the least, annoying.
Having paid attention to the nagging message from the Universe to “let it all go, Laura” I’ve been systematically and subconsciously doing just that. Now I’m sitting in the void waiting for…exactly what, I do not know.
The future was all planned.
I was on the road with a clear destination ahead. Familiar landmarks and signposts stretched out before me. I was happily married, had a successful business, and a great daughter, Danielle, who lives in California. Robert and I were going to move out there after retirement, so we bought a little house in Palm Desert for vacations in the meantime. She came down to meet us there for holidays.
Life was good, and then it wasn’t.
I had to let go of life the way I thought it was going to be. It was sad, it was painful, it was frightening, but it was necessary to my survival. However, once past the initial stages of grief, it became extraordinarily liberating and joyful. The way I’m doing things has changed as much as what I’m actually doing and everything is up for consideration or review.
Our house in the desert sold in February. I went to clear out personal items, art, and a few pieces of furniture, rented a truck and drove them up to Danielle’s home in Oakland. Road trip! Yes, that’s me in the U-Haul—a sight to behold and one I never thought I’d experience.
I not only made it, I had fun doing it!
The truck was surprisingly easy to manage and the daylong drive gave me plenty of time to be alone and think. Sometimes it’s very clear where you’re headed. Other times you won’t have an address to program into the GPS and you just have to drive around until you find a good place to stop for a while. Which is different than driving around for a while looking for a place to stop.
Life has an impermanence that I’ve only recently been able to appreciate. I don’t want to stop discovering new things everyday—about the world, humanity, or myself. Not even if it means that occasionally, comfort and familiarity need to be left behind in order to do so.
Ultimately, I’m not really sure what’s next. Chicago? California? Parts unknown? For right now, I’m gratefully accepting the invitation from Danielle and Anne to inhabit the suite at the end of the hall in their wonderful home on the hill. It is a safe haven and full of love.
When the condo finally does sell, it will take a concerted effort to empty it, which means an extended presence in Chicago to get that accomplished. Until then and even afterward, I will regularly fly back and forth to Chicago to see friends, family, and work with clients.
So I’m off!
With a trunk the size of a glove compartment and no backseat, I can’t take much along with me, but I’m packing up my little convertible with the essentials. I have the power adapter in order to plug-in my devices and I’m strapping in the cooler filled with organic food and water to ride shotgun. Files and business documents can fit into the trunk and other than an overnight bag, a few cartons of clothes are shipping UPS.
Headed west through the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, and beyond, I haven’t planned the other stops. I’m open to discovery–along the highway, in my head, and in my heart; exploring all the possibilities.
Unlike my first drive downtown, I can’t try out life the night before. I have to experience it as I go along–speed bumps, crazy drivers, off ramps, missed turns, and all. Nothing guarantees that I’ll arrive at my destination on time or in one piece. If I don’t like it once I get there, I can choose another place to go. The important thing is: not to settle for anything less than happiness.
Life is a test drive.
You might be perfectly happy and then something shifts, so that life as you know it no longer exists. Time to get on the road again–recalibrate, change lanes, and take a different route.
I can do that.
I am the hero—and the heroine.
I am saving myself.