Driving Miss Camryn

To get to Minneapolis from my where I live in Pennsylvania takes me approximately 15 hours if I only make short stops to refuel my car and myself (which I don't need to do since I essentially snack on baby carrots--thanks Carol H!--and other finger foods across state lines), or to use the bathroom and stretch and move my body. It's really a crazy thing to do, I realize, to drive that long by oneself in one stretch. But I like to listen to NPR (my son refers to it as "white people radio"), '70s songs, and songs that make me cry (doesn't take much, it turns out!). But as I was passing through Chicago this last time (didn't I choose a route that avoided Chicago?), stuck in a traffic jam in 95 degree heat, unable to roll up the rear window, I had an epiphany: I really don't like to drive. I thought perhaps I was neutral about driving. Maybe even liked it a little bit.  I like, for example, to go places. And I love a road trip--with friends, family, colleagues--(again) snacking across state lines, singing songs, telling stories and secrets. But no, I don't like it. It's dangerous. It requires sitting. It takes energy and focus. It uses precious resources. Did I mention it's dangerous? And, it turns out, I'm not that great of a driver (perhaps accounting for the dangerousness).  I have driven more in the past four months than in the past several years--even counting all of the skate shuttles. So, in my willingness to be open to what is, to be "naked with my own life," to say "yes" to the Universe, I have allowed myself to discover that I don't like driving. But my job this month is to get my daughter to skating rinks. Yes, rinks plural. Which requires...driving. A lot of driving, it turns out.

I love my daughter. I love that she is so passionate and committed to figure skating despite the fact that it must rank as one of the most unforgiving sports ever invented. And that it often requires getting up at very early hours (during the school year she's up at 4:45 am five days a week; she sleeps in until 5:45 am on Saturdays). And that it requires a lot of ice time, which is not a given in a small town in NW Pennsylvania. And that it is expensive. But she loves it. She really loves the discipline required, the athleticism, the artistry. And so, because she loves it and I love her, I try to make it happen for her. But today, as on many days, it takes some driving. 

And today I had the gift (remembering what the Buddha said: "You have no cause for anything but gratitude and joy") of experiencing a part (actually, make that parts) of myself that I really don't like. It's the part of me that is angry, judgmental, selfish, and tantrumy. Perhaps it was in part brought on by the heat (101: really is that necessary?) or lack of sleep. But I found myself really not liking taking my daughter to skating. I was, in fact, sort of seething about it. I was angry that I wasn't getting any work done. Was angry about being in the car yet again. Why did I ever allow her to get so far into this sport? Why didn't I say 'no' at some point? How is it that I'm driving strange highways hundreds of miles and a time zone away from home?  

So there's no punchline here. I was hot. I was cranky. And impossible. I drove to two ice rinks (they were cool, predictably and thankfully); I made wrong turns. I drove to the book store, the Whole Foods, the library for a library card, the post office (where are the mailboxes on street corners in this town?), the farmer's market, and home. I was less cranky. We rode our bikes to the YWCA on this hot and steamy evening and went to some crazy Pilates class. And I was happy. We cooked dinner from vegetables bought from the farmer's market. We watched "Chopped" (it's strangely addictive). And I'm reminded at the end of this day what I was reminded of at the beginning of it when I put out the intention that I wanted to be awake, present, and open to what is. It's all good if you can have compassion for yourself and others in every moment, especially the moments when we are ugly. It's all good if you can see that every moment and situation is perfectly suited to your needs, even though you might not fully know what those needs are at the moment. 


Tomorrow is the Fourth of July (America's Christmas!). My daughter asked me this evening before bed, "What time should we take our bike ride tomorrow, Mom?" 


I have no cause for anything but gratitude and joy.