We drove from here to the coast and back again over mountains and deserts in our silver mini-van with over 200,000 miles on it. What did I learn among other things? I have PTSD from mountain and desert driving from when I was a kid and we routinely over-heated and broke down over and over again on family vacations. Once, thumbing a ride, six of us, getting picked up in a Honda hatchback by two plain clothes nuns and stuffing all of us in there to get to the nearest town for a mechanic. So every time we headed up a pass or into “Next exit with services 125 miles” I got super nervous and freaked out.
But then again, we were in the comfort of a silver mini-van and not on foot and I couldn’t help but imagine all those gutsy dreamers and mothers with children heading west pre-engines and infrastructure. To put a finer point on it we stopped at the Donner Party memorial in Truckee, CA to really let it sink in the death toll/death mountains/death snowstorms/death deserts/valleys the west is littered with and the bones turned to dust turned to McDonald’s rests stops that dot this commercial wonderland from here to there.
The redwoods, the Grand Canyon, the painted desert, the Las Vegas strip, the Pacific ocean, the tall pines, the joshua trees, the fruit stands and bounty of the California central valley, the I-5, the Orange crush, Historic Route 66 and the Navajo nation, the Hopi tribe, the Hopi house on the south rim I remember visiting when I was a kid and my mom took a picture of me in front of it and I was fascinated by how short the door frames were. The door frames look even shorter now.
We did it. All those miles. I feel like I accomplished something as a parent to give to my children. I think to myself, “Look at the vastness of this breath-taking land. I’m not much of a patriot, but I can’t argue with how wondrous the mountains, the prairies, the oceans white with foam overwhelm the senses and imagination and compel even the most doubtful and skeptical of us to silent prayer in thanksgiving.”
And then back to reality where the washing machine breaks, the house that stood empty is bustling again, the garden gets weeded, the new washing machine is purchased, the boys start their pre-dawn fieldwork and I’m back to my mid-life crisis.
I started filling out a job application last night but then saw it asked for a resume and the thought of my spotty, sad work history had me hiding under the covers and erasing what I had written.
Well, what did you think was going to happen once you turned 43? Did you think you’d look back and automatically be gifted a different write up on all your life choices? Is that an option? Who do I talk to about do overs where I get to choose a 20 year profession and the sense of accomplishment that comes with it? How do I get that?
I didn’t know the world was going to stop, fall apart and leave me with nothing to do. I didn’t know that my body would start rebelling and become a problem. I didn’t have a plan. I do not have a plan. I was cursed with a resistance to planning.
But at least we succeeded in taking the kids on a road trip to see some of America’s greatest hits. So I’m good, right? All good?
Yesterday I sent the last record to the duplication company. I gave them my credit card number and that was that. And when I got off the phone and cried because it felt like the last thing left. That was the last thing. Tying up musical loose ends is the right thing to do, but it hurt. Hence the job application, hence the resume, hence the crisis, hence the crying.
Crying’s good though. It’s good, right? It shows I’m still feeling things. It shows I’m still here. It shows a kind of cleansing I guess. It feels like that fear of the mountain pass or the long desert stretch. We might break down, we might get rescued by nuns, we might have to turn off the A/C to keep the car from overheating, but we’re good. And remember, we took the kids on a cross country trip. At least I can say I did that.