Highway Lessons

Last Sunday, February 19, was my day off from work.  I had been looking forward to it even though I didn’t have anything planned.  But that’s the way I usually enjoy my days off.  I don’t like having a full schedule or having any place in particular that I need to be.  So, that morning, I woke up slowly and got dressed.  Then I spent an hour or so lingering over a cup of coffee and a mystery novel.  I reveled in the feeling of just lazing around for a while before going to the gym.  I spent an hour exercising my legs and doing some cardio.  I was relaxed and at peace….

Well, at least, until I was driving home after my work out.  I felt a little anxious while I was on the highway.  I was eager to get back home.  I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish that afternoon.  I needed to clean my house and work on my novel.  I needed to file my taxes and pay bills.  I wasn’t feeling stressed; I was just motivated to get on with my day.  I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down.  I smiled as I listened to my stereo and watched the highway unfold in front of me.  The drive home was peaceful…

Until it wasn’t any more.

Wait!  What’s this?  What’s happening?

I came around a bend in the highway and suddenly found that traffic had slowed down before coming to a complete stop.  All three lanes of the northbound 435 were blocked by stranded cars.  I suddenly found myself waiting in a long line of traffic in the far right lane.  I was still too far away to know what was causing the traffic jam, but the cars directly in front of me suddenly began to veer over to the left to get into the middle lane.  I quickly swerved over, too, before traffic could build up too heavily behind me.  Once more, I found myself sitting in the middle of traffic as I watched two police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance, all with sirens blaring, speeding by on the shoulder of the highway.

After a few moments, traffic slowly began to move forward; however, the cars in my lane were once more merging to the left and pushing into the fast lane.  I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed a small gap opening up in the left lane.  A large black SUV was still a few feet away.  I began to maneuver to the left when the SUV suddenly sped forward and closed the gap, shutting me out.  I was a little shocked that the man behind the wheel would not allow me the opportunity to merge.  I glared at him for a moment before pulling back into the middle lane and creeping forward a few feet.  Again, I noticed a gap in the left lane and started to ease over, just to be once more cut off by a woman in a small red Toyota Camry.  I shook my head and then tried again to get in the left lane.  The cars in front of me had already merged over to the left.  Why was I finding it so difficult to get a break in the heavy traffic?  Over and over again, five, six, seven times, vehicles zoomed forward without giving me a break.  I was trapped behind police cars and fire trucks that were now parked directly in front of me in the middle lane.  I was stuck; there was no room for me to move forward.  I had no choice; I had to merge but just couldn’t seem to find a kind-hearted person to have pity on me and allow me a break.

Even though I didn’t know what the problem was, I knew this was a dangerous situation.  I just had to be patient and not cause any further problems.  I reminded myself that someone would be kind enough to give me a break sooner or later.  I told myself to be kind to other people.  I needed to allow other drivers the opportunity to get through the backed up traffic.  So as I waited for a break to merge to the left, I stopped and allowed a few cars from the far right lane in front of me.  That probably wasn’t the best idea.  I was stuck even deeper in the middle of traffic now.  Again, I took another deep breath.  Be cool!  I told myself.  Don’t make a bad situation worse.

But I was still sitting in the middle of traffic with my blinker clicking and a little green arrow flashing on my dashboard.  I kept inching over to the left only to find my front bumper in danger of being knocked off by speeding cars that were pushing around me and not allowing me access to the fast lane.  Feeling trapped and beginning to think I was going to be in this position for the rest of the day, I now began to get agitated and irritated.  My patience had started to run very thin.  Why was this happening?  I wondered.  Why are all of these people being so rude?  I have to admit then I was getting really impatient and angry.  How is this fair?  I was tired of just sitting on the highway being pushed around by the other drivers.  And I admit I used a few words I hadn’t said in a very long time.  I cussed and swore and said things I would never want to repeat….I’m still surprised that I said them in the first place.  But I was just so aggravated with everyone at this point.  I finally realized that if I wanted to get anywhere that afternoon I would have to be aggressive and demanding.  I finally realized that I would just have to push my way into the left lane.  I stared into the side mirror until I noticed another small gap in the line of traffic.  I took a deep breath and quickly swung my car over to the left.  I just prayed that the person who was driving in the fast lane would stop, especially since I was straddling both lanes.  Then as traffic moved forward, I quickly pulled into the left lane, drove past the fire truck and ambulance….

…And suddenly, my breath caught in my throat.

Now, that I had driven around the fire truck, I could see the situation clearly.  A massive car wreck had taken place just moments earlier.  Two cars were sitting on the left shoulder of the highway and a third car was halfway in a ditch on the right.  I couldn’t see any damage to these cars, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention to them.  Instead, my eyes and mind became focused on a fourth car that was in the right hand lane.  The car was upside down and the roof and windows no longer exited.  The car was lying completely flat.  Oh, my gosh, seeing the way the car was situated, I couldn’t imagine that the driver and passengers had survived.  There was no way anyone in that black, muddy car could have lived through this wreck.  The top of the car was smashed flat down on the highway.

Tears burned in my eyes and I felt myself gasping for breath.  I started saying quick prayers for all the souls involved in this wreck.  But I couldn’t stop on the highway.  I needed to keep moving and that was alright because I just wanted to get away now.  I quickly drove down the highway and away from the damage.  I was really ashamed of myself.  How could I have gotten so upset at the other drivers for not letting me switch lanes?  Why couldn’t I have just remained calm and patient?  People lost their lives just now on this highway and here I was getting upset because I thought people were being rude to me.

The other drivers actually weren’t being rude, I realized now.  It wasn’t anything personal.  Everyone was just stressed and frustrated and just wanted to get on their way.  I had been so bad today.  I had cursed the cars zooming past me and completely forgotten that there were real, vulnerable people inside those other vehicles.  Instead of getting irritated, I should have just said prayers for everyone to be protected and to arrive safely at their destination.  The awful sight of the smashed, overturned car was a perfect reminder that we are all so fragile and need to be treated with kindness, dignity, and respect.  We are all only human and so quickly because of one outrageous, silly mistake, life can be gone so quickly

As I drove down the highway, I continued to pray for the people involved in the wreck and for all of the other drivers around me.  I asked that God protect everyone traveling on the highway that day.  I apologized to God for getting so upset and angry.  I then told God that I was just so tired of all of the hatefulness, the death, and the destruction that seemed to be so prominent in the world today.  Make it stop, God, please.

And just then, I drove around a bend and there, by the side of the highway, was a field full of bright beautiful flowers.  Colorful spring flowers were lining the side of the highway on this cold February day.  And there was a small sign right in front that read “Wildflowers in Bloom.”  I smiled then and drove the rest of the way home with a joyful heart and the world suddenly at peace.

 

 

 

 

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Alaska

Yugen

1. Important concept in traditional Japanese aesthetics. “Dim,” “Deep,” or “Mysterious”
2. Awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer, the author of Into Thin Air, published an amazing, thoughtful book entitled Into the Wild.  This book tells the true story of Christopher Johnson McCandless who, after graduating from college, spurned his former affluent life and the bright, comfortable future ahead of him.  Motivated by books he read by Jack London and John Muir, McCandless dedicated himself to a personal vision quest that began in the western and southwestern regions of America.  Changing his name to Alexander Supertramp, McCandless gave his savings of  $25,000 to charity, abandoned all his possessions, left his car in the Mojave Desert, and burned all of his cash to ensure that nothing would hold him back from his journey.  Looking for his own personal paradise on this earth, McCandless even threw away all of his maps and traveled only by his intuition.  In April 1992, McCandless hitchhiked into Alaska and walked into the vast cold wilderness north of Mount McKinley.  For a while, McCandless found shelter in an abandoned old school bus.  Four months later, however, his body was found by a moose hunter.

No one knows what ultimately motivated McCandless’s careless journey.  Questions still remain about a young man’s need to walk away from a rich and promising future to live homeless and starving  in the barren wildness of Alaska.  Some people claim that McCandless had a death wish and a need for self-destruction.    Others just dismiss McCandless’s actions as foolish and innocently reckless.

Well, I guess I am foolish and reckless too….

I don’t claim to know what was in McCandless’s head or why he choose his particular lifestyle, but there is a core element inside of me that feels so connected to his story.  In response to Krakauer’s consistent questions in the book about McCandless’s journey, I think I understand.

There are so many of us on this earth who don’t always feel that we belong in a world that overwhelms us with violent, materialistic, opportunistic situations.  Some of us who struggle to cope, do not medicate ourselves from the stress with alcohol, food, cigarettes, sex, gambling, or prescription drugs, but we do experience a deep and compelling lust all the same.  Wanderlust and the need to move, to travel, to create a universe of our own existence is a hunger that is rarely satisfied.

Restless, never able to settle down, I constantly look for opportunities to escape my existence.  I have no intention of doing this through self-harm.  I just have a relentless need to be lost.  When I travel, I rarely call or text anyone.  I love driving alone down deserted highways  without a single person knowing where I am in that exact moment.  I enjoy the solitude, the drifting away from my reality.  This has been my lifestyle for the last thirty years.

In July, 2016, I finally had the opportunity to realize a lifelong dream.  I spent time this summer exploring Alaska.  This was an amazing turning point for me.  I had made a vow to myself that I would drive through every state in America.  Alaska was the last state I needed to visit in order to satisfy this goal.  However, I refused to celebrate this accomplishment.  I didn’t post notices about it on Facebook.  I didn’t write blogs about my experience.  I just didn’t feel the need.

While I was in Alaska, I felt inspired to go completely off the grid.  I wanted desperately to be lost.  I wanted to cut off all communication to my former life.  I didn’t call or text anyone.  I only posted a few pictures on Facebook when I felt overwhelmed by the incredible scenery of glaciers, waterfalls, mountains, and animals.  But I only posted about 20 of the 350 photos I took.  I haven’t posted any more pictures or information about Alaska since I returned to Kansas.  There is a deep part of me that just needs to keep it quiet and hidden.  To experience so much of God’s amazing wilderness was so profound and awe-inspiring there was no way of putting it into words.  Even the beautiful pictures I have seem bleak when compared to the Alaskan landscape itself.  To this day, two months later, I have no desire to tell people about all of the amazing things that happened to me in Alaska.

However…

I think constantly of running away again to the “last frontier.”  I want to hide in her vast beauty and get lost in her majestic environment.  I want to run with her wilderness and dissolve into her endless splendor.

My life’s purpose was  redefined in Alaska.  I came into contact with who God intended me to be.  I was never meant to have the things of an ordinary life.  I was not meant to have a great job, or a wonderful marriage, or an incredible home.  My only life’s purpose is to grow closer to God.  To know him by his world, by the beauty that surrounds me.  I don’t have to be anything…in Alaska, I can just be…

I don’t care about success, or a home, or money.  Just knowing in my heart and soul that I can move and explore and witness God’s glory is enough for me in this lifetime.

I don’t know Christopher McCandless’s motivation for his journey.

I didn’t travel from this life as far as Christopher did.

But there are times I really wish I had followed him.

 

 

Possessed

Nothing is yours.  It is to use.  It is to share.  If you will not share it, you cannot use it.” –Ursula K. LeGuin, The Dispossessed

Unnecessary possessions are unnecessary burdens.  If you have them, you have to take care of them!  There is great freedom in simplicity of living.  It is those who have enough but not too much who are the happiest.  –Peace Pilgrim
Over the last few years, my brother, Tony, has been asking me to move back to our hometown of Kansas City, Kansas.  I grew up in Kansas and, to this day, my immediate family still resides there.  My brother and sisters are settled, happy, at peace.  They’ve raised their families, worked hard, and created nice homes.

I have always been the wanderer, flitting from place to place, living periodically in apartments, hotels, and cars. I owned nothing but a few books, some CDs, TV, computer, and a change of clothes.  I don’t own a home.  I won’t buy furniture.  I don’t hang pictures on the walls of rented spaces.  I hate clutter because it makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me.  Funny, but when I am “settled” in an apartment, I tend to have frequent panic attacks.  To remain calm, I usually don’t keep many things around me.

Many of my friends didn’t seem to mind my lack of furniture when they came to visit me.  They always happily sat on the pillows I would toss around on the floor.  We would sip hot tea or coffee.  We would talk and laugh without distractions. We would look into each other’s eyes instead of glancing around the room.  Many friends originally thought my lack of furniture would feel awkward.  To their surprise, they usually discovered that my home was warm and inviting.  Friends were always welcomed and honored in my home even if they didn’t have a comfortable place to sit.

My last apartment was in Palm Springs, California.  To say I had a simple decorating style would be an overstatement.  I had decorated the apartment in the “Early Wal-mart tub” style.  Seriously…I had just purchased plastic tubs from Wal-mart to hold my CDs, books, papers, and underwear.    I slept on an old army cot.  I explained my decorating style to my friends this way.  “When I have to leave again, I don’t want anything holding me down or holding me back.  I just want to be able to throw my things in my car and drive away.  I want to be able to leave at a moment’s notice and not have to worry about things.”

Possessions have always been a problem for me.  In the distant past, with my first apartments, I did try to create a sense of home by purchasing appliances and furniture.   But when the urge and opportunity came upon me to move, I didn’t know what to do with everything I owned.  I didn’t want to pack it and move it.  I didn’t want to deal with it even if I was just moving ten miles away.   I would just give my things away.  That was a very strange situation.  I would call my friend, Julie, and tell her I had a vacuum, microwave, TV to give away.  She would answer, “I really would love those things, but I’m too busy with the kids right now.  Can you bring them over?”  So I would load up my car and drive the things over to Julie’s home.  Then my friend, Sara, asked for some of my things.  I would load up my car and drive the items to her house.  Next thing I knew, I was delivering random stuff to all of my friends’ homes.  Why didn’t I just move everything to my new apartment!?  I was moving the things all over town anyway!  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t know.  I just kept given my things away without even considering taking them with me.  For some reason, this odd ritual just made me feel free and unburden and I would repeat it with each move.

Until recently…

A few years ago, things changed a little for me.  I thought I would finally settle down in Southern California.  I had a good job and was making extra money.  I still wouldn’t buy furniture; that was too big of a commitment.  But I did indulge in buying additional books and CD, which really make me happy.  But a strange thing happened.  Staying in one place caused me to accumulate more things.  And the worst part…I got attached!  Seriously, I became very attached to my books, my CDs, my DVDs, my clothes.  I became selfish.  I didn’t want to give anything away.  I wanted my things…the things I had worked so hard to acquire.

So, a few months ago, when Tony again asked me to move back to Kansas, I responded honestly.  “I don’t want to give up my things again.  I always give things away every time I move.  And Kansas is a thousand miles away from California.  I don’t want to give everything away.”

“You don’t have to give your things away,” Tony laughed at me.  “Why would you do that? Bring it with you.  Hire a U-Haul, get a van, hire a moving company.  You don’t have to leave it behind.”

But still, I resisted the move for a while until I finally decided last month that it was time to return to the Midwest.  I decided that Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give away anything I wanted to keep.  I would just pack it all up, put it into storage, and then hire a company to move it to Kansas when I was ready to return to the Midwest.  I soon notified my leasing company that I was leaving my apartment and began to pack my “things.”  Now, as many times as I have moved, I still don’t know how to pack.  That’s because I never took the items with me before.  Now, I just went to Home Depot and purchased a stack of boxes and some tape.  I just started throwing random pieces of my life haphazardly into the boxes and taping them up.  I placed the boxes into a small 5 X 5 storage unit.  For some odd reason, I was pleased that my whole life could fit into the smallest space available.  I think it was reassurance to me that my life wasn’t cluttered.  I wasn’t hoarding anything.  i really wasn’t attached.  I began to breathe a little easier as I closed and locked the door of the storage unit and drove away.  For several weeks again, I traveled unburdened through Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada.  I was totally unencumbered.  I was able to breath and feel free once more.

And then…

I was ready to return to the Midwest.  Before making the journey, I first had to meet the movers at the storage unit.  I apologized a few times when the movers complained that the boxes loaded with books were so heavy, but I didn’t really worry about it.  I just watched with relief as the two large moving men placed my 24 boxes, the sum of everything I currently owned, onto the truck and took it all away.  I had my freedom and I would have my things.  Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give anything away.  I was able to keep my possessions….and I was able to drive back to Kansas without feeling the weight and heaviness of my possessions.

But then…

Once I was in Kansas, anxiety began to build up in me.  Twelve days later and my possessions had still not arrived.  All kinds of thoughts and worries hammered away at my brain.  What if the moving company had been a scam?  What if the movers were going to hold my things for ransom?  What if my items had gotten lost, damaged, or stolen along the way?  What if the only time the moving company could deliver I was scheduled to work at my new job?  The “what if’s” built up with endless anxiety.  “Stop it,” I tried to tell myself.  “It doesn’t matter.  It’s just ‘stuff’.  Let it go.”  But the stress kept me awake at night.  Yes, stress…over ‘stuff.’

Finally, I received a call from the movers letting me know that they could deliver the items the next day…well, night.  They would not be arriving in Kansas City, Kansas, until 9 pm.  I told them that was fine.  I didn’t care if they didn’t arrive until midnight.  I just wanted my items delivered and the whole thing over with.  The movers didn’t show up the next evening until around 10:30 pm.

Tony had just gotten home from work when the moving van arrived.  I was fortunate to have him there.  The delivery was a little rough.  The truck driver actually passed up Tony’s house and was halfway down the street before realizing his mistake.  He suddenly brought the truck to a loud screeching stop and then backed up with lights blazing and the annoyingly loud reverse “ding” sound echoing around the neighborhood.  The noise brought several neighbors to their front doors.  Tony’s next door neighbor, an elderly woman dressed in a purple bathrobe, fuzzy slippers, and pin curlers, stepped out onto her front porch.  I couldn’t quite hear what she was shouting at Tony, but my brother answered, “It’s okay.  It’s fine.  It’s just a moving van. They are delivering to my house. “

The elderly woman shouted to Tony again.  After he reassured her that the van was there make a delivery, not to rob the neighbors’ houses, the woman went back into her home and quickly shut and locked her door.  Tony and I stared at each other and then turned our attention back to the delivery truck.

“Oh, my God,” Tony suddenly declared. “What is that driver doing?  He doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t know how to drive that truck!”  Tony went running out into the street as he watched the driver steer the truck right up into another neighbor’s yard.  Tony tried to flag down the driver and get him to turn in the other direction.  Tony walked up to the side window of the truck and after some discussion, the driver finally stopped the truck in the middle of the street.  Tony walked back to me shaking his head.  “Oh, man,” he sighed, “the neighbors are not going to be happy when they see their yard tomorrow morning.”

I just stared at my brother in surprise, completely incapable of responding.

The large, red-haired driver now climbed out of his seat and walked to the back of the truck.  He pulled up the door and I was suddenly staring at all of my boxes…all of my crumbling, smashed, opened, mauled, tattered boxes.

“Did you pack this stuff?” the driver asked me.  I just shook my head yes.  “Man, way too heavy.  Those boxes weren’t strong enough for everything you packed.  And the tape you used…absolutely useless.”

“It was books,” I answered meekly.  “I packed books…”

I didn’t know what else to say as the man now began to gather together the ripped boxes and throw them down off the truck.  Several of my books fell out and scattered across the driveway.  I was so thankful to have Tony there.  As the mover threw the boxes off of the truck, Tony and I gathered together the pieces.  Tony placed the boxes on his dolly and rolled them into the garage.  Many of the boxes were so heavy, the two men had to lift them together just to get them onto the dolly.

“Way too heavy,” Tony shook his head at me.  “Why did you pack everything this way?”

I could just shrug my shoulders helplessly.  I wanted my things this time, I just remember thinking.  I just really wanted my things.  I didn’t want to give them away again.

Finally, the 24 ripped and tattered boxes were inside the garage.  I paid the mover and thanked him for his help, even though Tony did the majority of the heavy lifting and hauling into the garage.  When the mover drove away and the neighborhood was once again quiet, Tony and I stood in the garage together staring at the boxes that were open and/or fallen over.  I was shocked, surprised, and speechless.

Though I truly appreciated Tony’s help, as I stared at all of my possessions, I didn’t feel happy or relieved.  I didn’t feel excited or elated.  No.  Instead, I felt humiliated.  I felt embarrassed.  I was absolutely horrified.  All of that fuss. All of that upset and worry and stress.  All of the annoyance to the neighbors and all the work Tony suddenly had to do…for this! For this dilapidated, falling over, crushed, and scrambled pile of boxes.  All of that work and worry for all of my absolutely worthless material things!

I felt myself burn with shame.  I was so angry that I had let material things own me, control me, and load me down.

Tony was incredibly gracious about the whole mess.  It was as if he knew that this was the total sum of my net worth.  He had more respect for the remnants of my life than I did.  He smiled.  He said he would find stronger boxes for me.  He said he would help me repack everything and make sure it was all there and all safe.

I just wanted to throw everything in the trash now and forget about it.   I wanted to sell it all on EBay.  I wanted to place all of the boxes in the front yard and let someone just walk off with them…if he or she could even lift the boxes!  I wanted to have a garage sale and sale everything at discounted prices.  I wanted to pack everything up into my car and deliver to the homes of my friends.  After all of the struggle and all of the fight over all of my junk, it just didn’t seem like it mattered anymore.

Two weeks later, and all of the boxes are still sitting in the garage.  I haven’t unpacked them.  I hadn’t even looked at them.   I haven’t gone through any of the boxes or rearranged them in any way.  I have an aversion to looking at them or touching them.  The boxes make me cringe.  They remind me of my once horrible attachment to things that didn’t even really matter in the first place…I just want to get into my car now and drive away from the whole, God awful mess.

I want to live out of my car again.  I want to sleep in the backseat and keep battered paperback books on the passenger seat beside me.  I want to listen to music on the car stereo and cruise through small ghost towns throughout America…alone and free.

But for now, I’m buried under a mountain of junk that keeps me trapped and weighed down in a quasi-normal life.  Why did I insist or believe that I couldn’t move without my things this time?  Was I just using my things as an excuse not to move again?  And now that I am in Kansas, will I ever run free again?  Maybe I just want to feel love…love of life, love of thought, love of spirit…Maybe I just want to feel love instead of taking cold comfort in material things.

I remember reading in a Buddhist book about the theory of attachment.  I paraphrase the thought, but it basically said that it was okay to have things but don’t become attached.  You must know that all things are impermanent.  Have things but don’t allow yourself to become sad or disappointed if they are lost, stolen, or broken.  They are not the sum of your life, of your existence.

I don’t know why I let myself, for a period of time become so attached to my things. Maybe I just needed it for a time to feel like I was accomplishing something.

But now, I think I could just walk away and leave everything behind…and I would be okay.  Yeah, I would certainly be okay.

My Personal Independence

Why do these things keep happening to me?

That’s not a complaint.  I’m not whining or asking for sympathy.  I know that I have been blessed.  I know that I have had a good life.  The question is of the straight-forward, searching-for-answers variety that would bring understanding to my chronically crazy life.  I am just looking for some perspective, some meaning for the series of strange events that have occurred in my life lately.  Does everything really happen for a reason?  If it does, than what has been the purpose of incidents happening in the last couple of years?

In particular…

I can’t seem to stop living out of my car!  For the past ten years, I have rented a variety of apartments throughout Southern California.  Yes, it is true…I have moved about seven times since I arrived in Palm Springs, California, in October of 2004.  I have moved so many times that one of my friends told me that she always dedicates a full page of her address book just to me because she knows she will have to make constant updates.  She made the comment, “You move more than someone on the lam.”  She’s right, I suppose.  I do move around a lot.  Is the change due to my constant restlessness and wanderlust?  Actually, no….

There is a deep part of me that dreams of settling down somewhere.  I dream of setting down roots, having a family, becoming a familiar face in the community.  But circumstances have continually caused me to move, not into a house but into the bucket seats of my 2010 Toyota Scion.

Before the Scion was home, my main residence was a 2002 Toyota Tacoma.  Every time I think of that pick-up truck, I get a horrible case of homesickness.  I have more feelings of “Home” for that truck than any place I’ve ever lived in California.  I have never stayed anywhere else long enough, I guess, to get attached to a particular structure.

I moved into my first California apartment in 2004.  I was there for eight months until the owners decided to sell the property.  I was told to either by the rundown, ‘70s decorated one-bedroom place or get out.  I got out…and moved into my truck.  My next apartment was a small studio where I stayed for almost two years until new management refused to repair leaky air conditioners, fix broken windows, and control the roach problem…and then doubled the rent! Back into the truck I moved.  I stayed in the truck until I rented my next apartment in Oceanside, California.  I had been offered a new position with higher pay.  Within six months, however, the Oceanside company folded.  Thankfully, my old job in Palm Springs took me back.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t commute four hours a day nor pay for two separate apartments, so I stayed in my truck until the lease on the Oceanside apartment had ended.

The next apartment I had in Palm Springs was my favorite.  I stayed there for almost two years until my mother moved to California and into the apartment with me.  Suddenly, the studio apartment seemed much smaller.  Mom and I didn’t move into my truck.  Instead, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment that featured a multitude of lizards running around the courtyard.  Little lizards were always waiting on the porch to greet us every time we opened the front door.  Mom and I lived in that apartment for eight months until I lost my mother to colon cancer in March 2010.  I couldn’t maintain a two-bedroom apartment by myself.  I didn’t move back into the pickup this time.  Instead, I was living in a 2010 Toyota Scion which had replaced the truck the year before.  Man, I miss that truck!

Later, I moved into a one bedroom apartment determined that I would make it a home…which I did for two and a half years until mice moved into the walls.  The owners of the building just laughed at me when I complained.  “You’re living in the desert,” they said.  “You’re going to have snakes, mice, lizards, and roaches in every apartment no matter how clean you keep it!”  Oh, the apartment was also haunted.  The manager couldn’t seem to explain away the spirits, which actually didn’t seem to bother me.  My friend, Olga, always laughs at this incident.  She says, “You stayed with the ghosts, but moved with the mice.”  Well, yeah, mice are scary!  Thank goodness, my car doesn’t have mice…or ghost.

My last California apartment was in Palm Desert where I lived for 18 months until more little critters chased me back into my Scion.  Maybe I should have stood my ground and not little the creatures push me around.  Maybe I should have demanded that the critters leave, especially since they weren’t paying rent.  Being nervous about confrontations though, I ended up being the one to move out.  I threw all of my things into storage and sadly moved back into my Toyota Scion, feeling like a complete failure.

My friend, Terry, helped me move the last of my possessions into the storage space on July 4^th, Independence Day.   I was really not happy about the situation when Terry placed the very last item into the bin and I shut and locked the door.  My whole life awkwardly fit into a tiny 5 X 5 space.

Suddenly, Terry looked at me and said excitedly, “Oh my gosh!  Happy Independence Day!  You’re free!” I turned to look at her in surprise.  “This is so great for you,” Terry continued to say.  “I wish I was like you.  Without the apartment and lots of possessions, you have no obligations.  You’re so free.  You don’t get held down by anything.  You just travel and go whenever you want.  What an amazing way to live!”

I stared at her for a moment.  It was an interesting perspective she just presented to me.  I could whine that I didn’t have a home or I could celebrate my freedom.  It suddenly dawned on me that every time I switched apartments, I actually did celebrate.  After I left the first apartment, I drove through Southwestern America.  When I left the second apartment, I drove cross country to the Northeast.  After the third, I think I ended up in Pacific Northwest.  I suddenly began to think about all the great places I’ve been when I was in between homes.  With freedom and my home life contained in my car, I usually just drove everywhere my wanderlust encouraged me.  Now, my sudden new liberty was filling my head with dreams of the very last American state I had to visit—Alaska!

“Yeah,” I smiled back at Terry then, “you’re right.  I do have a lot of freedom.”

“Independence!  Happy 4^th of July!” Terry cried as we hugged each other for a moment.  “I want to be not only free but brave like you!  I’m proud of you.”

And that’s maybe why I don’t have a home.  Maybe that’s why these things keep happening to me.  Maybe there is a reason, a purpose, a plan.  Maybe I am supposed to be on the road discovering God’s beautiful land.

I’m not totally free.  Alaska will have to wait a few more weeks because of my job.  But as I lie down every night in the back seat of my Toyota Scion to sleep, I continue to dream of Alaska and my incredibly bright, unknown, unpredictable future and I know I am home.

Travelers

I had actually been happy while driving home from work around 10:30 last Thursday night.  I was planning to leave very early the next morning to spend three days in Las Vegas.  I was really excited about the trip and looked forward to visiting a friend I haven’t seen in a few months.   I was about four miles from home when I suddenly remembered something.  Dang!  I had forgotten to put gas in my car that afternoon.  Whenever I have a trip planned, I like to fill my tank the day before.  Then I can leave on my trip very early in the morning without having to make an extra stop.

I was really frustrated with myself now.  How could I have forgotten to get gas?  In between classes that Thursday afternoon, I had run around town getting ready for my trip.  I got my haircut and ran to the bank.  I stopped at the 99 Cent store and grabbed some snacks to take with me to Vegas.  I was already for my weekend getaway…

…and I forgot to get gas for the car! How could I have forgotten this one important errand?  How could I be so stupid?!  I continued to angrily cuss at myself as I drove home.

I didn’t want to stop for gas that night.  It sounds silly I know, but I didn’t like to stop anywhere this late at night.  I was exhausted and I don’t trust too many people after 9 pm.  I would just have to wait to go to the gas station on my way out of town in the morning.  I was still really frustrated with myself even after I arrived home and settled in for the night.

On Friday, I woke up around 5:30 am and quickly got dressed.  I locked up my apartment and climbed into my car.  Dang!  I had to stop and get gas!  I drove down Washington Street but instead of turning left onto the highway, I turned right onto Varner Road.  Then I made an immediate left turn into the Chevron gas station and pulled my car up to a gas pump.  As I stopped the car and opened up my door, I noticed a tall, slender, 20-something-year-old woman standing beside the pump.  The woman was dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck, and a zippered gray sweater.  Cuddled in the woman’s arms was a large, orange cat.  I smiled curiously at her as I got out of the car.

“Excuse me,” the woman suddenly said, “but can you please help me?  I don’t have any money.  Do you have a few dollars I can please have to get some gas?”

I looked at the woman for a moment and then gave my standard reply when people approach me for money.  “I’m sorry,” I told her, “but I don’t have any cash on me.  I’m paying for my gas on my credit card and I don’t like to charge a lot…”  My voice slowly trailed off as I felt slightly overwhelmed.  Why was I telling her all of these things?  Why was I rambling on to this woman?

But the woman just smiled, stroked the beautiful, fluffy cat, and said, “Yeah, well, that’s okay.  Thank you anyway.”  I just nodded as I moved over to the gas pump and stuck my credit card in the slot.  As I stood there pumping the gas, I kept hearing a strange voice in my head.  “Help her,” the voice demanded.  “Don’t turn her away.  She needs your help.”  I shook my head to clear the voice but it wouldn’t go away.  “Help her!” the voice continued to demand.  A chill suddenly rushed through me as I tried to ignore the voice.  I kept getting the inclination that I needed to help this young woman.  I couldn’t shake the feeling way.

I finished filling my tank and hung the nuzzle back on the pump.  I put the cap back on my tank and then turned around.  The young woman was gone.  I looked around for a moment and then walked around the pump.  I noticed that the woman was now sitting in her car cuddling the cat.  I walked around the front of her car as she opened her door.

“Listen,” I said as she stepped out of the car and stood in front of me.  “I just can’t stand the thought of driving away and leaving you sitting here.  I can’t spare a lot, but I would be happy to help you.  I can put a few dollars on my credit card for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” the woman responded.  “I don’t need much.  I just need enough gas to get to the next exit.”  We walked around to the other side of the woman’s car.  As she opened up her gas tank, I ran my card through the slot on the pump to make the purchase.  The woman picked up the nozzle and placed it in the tank.  Slowly the gas began to drizzle into her car.  She smiled at me and stopped the pump at $2.50.  I was surprised.  “Are you sure that’s all you need?  Don’t you need a little bit more?”

“No,” she answered.  “This is plenty.  As long as I have enough to get to the next exit, I’ll be fine.  Thank you so much for your help.”

“That’s okay,” I answered.  “Just be safe.”

The woman and I then got into our cars.  I started my engine and then waited as the young woman waved to me and drove off.  I followed after her a few minutes later.  I drove down Varner Road and then turned onto the highway, finally on my way to Vegas.  As I drove along, my eyes kept sliding over to the side of the road.  I was watching for the young woman with the cat.  She had taken so little from me, I was afraid that I would find her stranded somewhere along the highway.  I watched for her, hoping she got to her exit okay….

…and that’s when I suddenly realized what happened!  Oh my gosh…that was why I “forgot” to get gas yesterday.  I was meant to be at that gas station this morning to help that young woman.  I tell myself that it was no big deal.  Someone eventually would have come along to help her.  But, just as I heard the voice telling me to help the young woman, there is knowingness within me that says that I was supposed to be at the gas station on this day at that time.  That’s why I didn’t get the gas yesterday.  This was no coincidence.  Everything really does happen for a reason, exactly the way it is meant to be.

Even though I don’t know what the ultimate plan is yet, I know there definitely is one.  The good and stupid things I do are all part of God’s great plan.  Why stress when everything is already set in motion?  I continued to drive down the highway then, happily singing along with the song on the radio.  I didn’t see the young woman again.  She must have made it safely to her destination….wherever that may be…I was just happy that God trusted me to be a part of her journey.

New Year’s Eve

I should have known better than to go to the grocery store on New Year’s Eve.  I knew that the store would probably be busy with last minute customers who were preparing a New Year’s celebration that night.  I could have probably waited for a couple of days to go to the store.  I just thought it would be easier to pick up a few groceries now on my way home from the gym.

The parking lot of the grocery store was crowded but I finally found a space in a small side parking lot and carefully eased in between two large SUVs.  I parked the car and ran into the store.  Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to grab the few things I needed and, within twenty minutes, I was back in my car ready to drive home.

But before I could start my car, I suddenly caught some movement in my rearview mirror.  I turned to my left and looked over my shoulder.  An elderly man was carefully walking between my car and the SUV parked on the left side.  I sat in the car waiting for the man to get into the passenger side of the SUV.  He was a large man, well over six foot, and heavyset.  His pure white, wavy hair was cut short and his large glasses sat squarely on his round fleshy face.

I stared at him for a moment and tried to be patient as I waited for him to get in his car.  I was anxious to get home now and it seemed to be taking this man a long time to move out of the way.  Maybe he didn’t know I was waiting, I thought.  Maybe he couldn’t see me.  I waited another minute and then started the car. I didn’t want to scare him, but I just wanted to go home now.  The man looked up at me for a moment and then opened the front passenger door and started to climb inside.  For a moment, he struggled to get his large body into the car.  Then, as the man pushed himself forward, his door came hurtling at my car and smacked against my back driver’s side door with a loud Thwack!  The impact was so strong, my whole car rocked from side to side for a moment .  I turned back around in my seat to stare at the man as he resumed the process of getting into the car.

I started to roll down my window.  I didn’t know what I was going to say.  I hadn’t prepared for a confrontation.  I should however get out and check my car.  But then, I looked at the man who was now half in and half out of his car.  My furious eyes locked with his tired grey eyes. Despair and loneliness were etched into a face full of wrinkled grief and saggy sadness.  I couldn’t say anything then.  Instead, I met his eyes, smiled at him, and  put my window back up.  I waited until the man was finally settled into the car and shut his door.  I looked again behind me and began to slowly ease out of the space.  As I backed up, I meet the man’s eyes again, and I suddenly held up my hand and waved to him.  He never smiled or said anything, but slowly his hand came up and he waved back.  A strange look of surprise covered his face.

I pulled out of the parking space and drove home.  As I got out of the car, I looked at my back passenger door.  A thin, small, shallow scratch was carved into the grey paint.  I thought about the incident as I smiled then and traced the scratch with my fingertips.  It’s a car; it’s only a car…and if you’ve seen my car, you know it ain’t no Cadillac!  Besides, my car is hardly ever clean. The inside of my car looks like I’m going on a five-day road trip; the outside looks like I’ve just returned.  The additional scratch, I decided, just gave my car more character.  What difference does it really make anyway?  What would I have said to the man?  Would I have gotten angry?  Screamed at him?  Yelled?  What right did I have to attack the man’s dignity over a minor accident?  The car certainly is not worth the worth of an elderly man.  What did a small scratch mean in the whole scheme of things?

I started to laugh at the absurdity of life and the changes that have happened to me in the past year.  My gosh, how I have changed.  A year ago, I might have gotten upset.  A year ago, I would have demanded some retribution.   But today, now, it was a year later from the person I used to be.  2015, the start of a new year…and the scratch really didn’t seem to matter.

I walked into my apartment then and my new year’s celebration suddenly began early.  I usually wait until midnight on December 31.  But my emotions were beginning to run over.   I thought about the elderly man.  I thought about the incident.  I thought about all the struggles, joys, and challenges in my life over the past year and I started to cry.  I sat on the floor of my studio apartment and cried for the man and cried for myself and cried for the world.

An hour later, I was exhausted.  I glanced at the clock.  It was only 2:00 pm.  Yes, my New Year’s celebration happened very early this year.  I always cry on New Year’s Eve.  I released the old fear and worries.  I cleansed my heart of any lingering sadness.  I prepared my mind for the challenges ahead in the new year. I have washed away the old and I am ready for the new.

I rolled on the floor and laughed for a while before finally pulling myself up.  I turned on my computer and continued working on the novel I had started a few weeks ago.  My mind and heart were so clear, I could suddenly see the world around me in a whole new way.  I am ready now for the joys, challenges, and changes the new year will offer!

Have a safe and happy 2015, everyone!

The Randomness of My Life

I was reading back over my blogs the other day and released that there’s not really a theme. Was I supposed to have one? I noticed that most bloggers write about a certain thing–fashion, food, travel. But I can’t seem to focus. I can’t seem to choose one thing. I realized then that my blogs are just as random and unorganized as my life.

It made me think of a writing assignment I was giving a few years ago. What was the best year of my life in a 5-year span? I still don’t know how to answer that. Nothing actually stands out in my mind. I have never climbed Mount Everest, sailed around the world, or performed a heroic feat that saved another person’s life. Maybe I didn’t know what to write because I couldn’t think of a specific moment that turned my life around. I have never married. I don’t have children. I have never won the lottery. My life instead has been very different. It has been a day-to-day process. It has been a continuous unfolding of insight and understanding. I see my life as being an endless progression of trial and error.

Maybe I am trying too hard. Maybe I am overthinking the question. Maybe I should think about the happy moments of my life. Maybe I should think of the times that have made me feel alive and joyful to be in this world. I think of my miraculous moments. I have seen angels and other visions. I have helped people heal through massage and energy work. I have traveled extensively around the world. I have gone to several different schools and graduated with honors. I have taught in several different schools and helped others graduate with honors. I have waded in the oceans. I have gazed at mountains shining purple in the sunlight. I have received hugs from family and friends. I have experienced painful breakups of relationships. I have watched friends and family suffer and pass through my life no matter how hard I tried to hold onto them. I have read great books that showed me a different way of life. I have seen great movies that have inspired emotions deep within me. I have listened to amazing music that moves my soul in the same way it moves my feet. I have screamed for victory at sporting events. I have competed in the race of life for an attainable victory. I have tried to be kind, though I know I don’t always succeed when I am tired or stressed. I have taken beautiful photographs and have become frustrated when others don’t see the amazing things that I do. I have been strong at times and shown amazing courageous. I have been shy at other moments and cowered away from perceived threats. I have held babies. I have watered plants. I have cared for pets. I have treasured objects that would have no value to anyone else. I have lived life to the very brink of its existence. I have slept and being lazy on warm summer days. I have eaten great food and then worried about my weight. I have exercised and loved my body. I have hated my body and every one of its flaws has left me depressed and feeling unlovable. I have moments when I have doubted God’s existence. There were days when I have doubted my own existence. There are times when I have been a great believer just because I saw a sunrise or a drop of rain. I have great faith that won’t diminish even on days of sadness. I have great sadness that can sometimes diminish my faith. I have had a life filled with many years of great joy and tremendous sadness. I have had many years that I want to live again and others I would wish to erase from my memory.

So to answer what is the best year of my life, what can I say? Maybe I haven’t lived enough. Maybe I have lived too much. I can’t concentrate on one idea. My life is swirling in front of my eyes as if I am about to pass over into a new existence. When I finally do pass over into a new existence, will I look back on the best year of my life? Will I know then when the best time of my life had been? No, I will only know that I had a life…

Highway to Freedom

My mother walked back into the busy waiting room with bitter tears streaming down her face. She hadn’t passed her exam and would have to repeat the process again in a few weeks. Though I was only 5-years-old, I could tell that this failure was heartbreaking for my mother. Her chance for independence had just slipped away from her. At 34-years-old, Mom was hoping that getting her driver’s license would be the first step in leaving an abusive marriage. Driving could have been Mom’s chance to break away.

Without my father knowing, Mom had been secretly studying to get her driver’s license. My grandmother was her willing accomplice and driving instructor. Every afternoon for one summer, my brother, two sisters, and I were crowded into the back seat of my grandmother’s old white Oldsmobile, lovingly named “Oldsie.” My mother sat behind the steering wheel with my grandmother in the passenger seat giving her continuous instructions. Every afternoon, Mom would drive us round and round Chapel Hill Cemetery as she anticipated a life away from my father.

My mother had become desperate. She continually practiced, refusing to give up on her own survival. Driving represented autonomy to her. It was her freedom and her chance to prove she was not stupid as my father always stated. She refused to quit even when her everyday life seemed an insurmountable challenge.

When she received her license after her second attempt to pass the test, driving became Mom’s escape. When my father’s rages became too violent, Mom would grab her car keys, load her children into the car, and drive–just drive anywhere until she was sure it was safe to go back home. Many times, we would drive around for hours, not returning to the house until long after midnight. My siblings and I didn’t care. We loved watching the moonlight reflect off the water of Wyandotte County Lake as Mom drove over the winding side roads on hot summer nights. On some evenings, we would drive around the rich neighborhoods picking out houses we daydreamed about owning someday, or looking at all the beautiful, sparkly lights of decorated homes and businesses over the holiday seasons.

Mom would sit forward in her seat to reach the pedals and grip the wheel tightly in her small hands as she slid effortlessly through traffic. Mom loved highway driving. Heavy traffic didn’t scare her. There were times she was almost fearless when she drove. She refused to let me drive at all the first time we traveled together to New Mexico in 1995, and it was something we argued about for hundreds of miles. She later told me she just wanted to prove that she could do it, that she could drive all the way from Kansas to New Mexico and back again. And she did it! Even receiving a speeding ticket on the way home. It’s true. We were traveling through Oklahoma. I was dozing in the passenger seat when I suddenly heard Mom exclaim, “Oh, my, there’s a cop car behind me!” I was immediately fully awake as Mom pulled over to the side of the road. My sixty-two-year-old mother had been driving twenty miles over the speed limit. She had just lost track of her speed as she sailed down the highway, reveling in the purest sense of joyful self-determination.

I know exactly how she felt. When I was twenty-two-years-old, Mom taught me to drive in the Chapel Hill Cemetery just as she had learned. I drove around the headstones for hours at a time with Mom in the passenger seat trying to give me subtle instructions.

The road was always our salvation. I feel safe and free when I am driving down some random highway in America. I may not even have a destination but that doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t matter to me where I am going. It is all about the journey anyway.

In 2002, Mom and I decided to run away. We were searching for a home, a place where we could feel safe and at peace. We didn’t know where we were going. We didn’t have a plan or intention. All we wanted to do was drive through all 50 states of America. We didn’t use a GPS or an array of maps. We didn’t make hotel reservations and never knew where we would stop for the night. We were guided just by God’s plan and our own sense of wonderment and adventure.

We had finally found our place on this earth. Being on the road presented us with endless lessons of faith, love, relationships, and self-discovery. The best place to live is within the human heart.

And the adventure continues….

My International Voice

My childhood fears have ebbed over the years, though every now and then my early experiences visit me in strange ways. Whenever I talk, it’s not unusual for people to ask me where I’m from. People usually claim I have an accent. It’s actually not an accent, but a scar left over from my speech impediment. I have been placed all over the world though. Constant questions about my heritage always come racing at me from strangers. People are always asking me if I’m from Australia, England, Scotland, Ireland…

One day, I was working in a department store in Kansas and this older man and woman approached me. After answering their questions, the man repeated my answers back to me. I nodded, thinking he was doing nothing more than confirming what I had said. But as they turned to walk away, the man grabbed the woman’s arm and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “If these foreigners want to stay in this country, they better learn to speak the language!” At the time, I was shocked by his words. Now, I find it funny. I’m proud of my international voice. Though I am still naturally shy and socially awkward, darkness and loneliness no longer consume me. I no longer need anyone to take care of me, hold my hand, fight my battles for me, or watch over me while I sleep.

One evening, I stood on the balcony of my apartment in California staring out at the San Jacinto mountains as the sun set behind them turning the peaks to a dark gentle brown. I knew at that time that I didn’t want this existence to end. Even with all of the struggles I have known, I don’t want to leave this life. Why is it that I have lived without a home before, not knowing where I was going or how I was going to survive…how was it that I lived off just a bowl of rice every day for several months and still believe, within myself, that I have always had the best of everything? I continue to behave like a young girl, dreaming of castles and princes, even though life has tried many times to convince me there are no such things for me. Sometimes I believe I am incurably optimistic. My greatest accomplishment in life is knowing how to always remain in a state of gratitude. I have always known how to count my blessings.

My experiences have been so different from the many people I have known. My experiences continually pull me from this world and yet hold me to this life. I travel alone and free not knowing where it will lead me. I live traveling aimlessly on the roads that bring me closer to God than any religious following ever could. I say my prayers when I am traveling. When I get scared of being lost and alone, I pray and feel a presence in the empty seat beside me in the car, guiding my path. I am surprised that there are people in my life who still see this as a defect in me, but it’s okay. I know what’s real.

New Adventures–Getting Lost

At that time my family embarked on road trips, there were no cell phones or GPS systems. We did not depend on technology to get us through. We were real pioneers, with nothing but maps and fellow adventurers traveling the highways. All we had to depend on were ourselves and the kindness of family, friends, neighbors, and travelling allies. That was the adventure. We lived dangerously…and we survived. We learned how to stand on our own two feet and find our direction. We may have found ourselves lost every now and then, but we always eventually made it back home.

I don’t think people want adventure any more. They just want to be at their destination fast and soon. Oh, what they have missed along the way is heartbreaking. Why not stop and view the world around us? Otherwise, what’s the point of going anywhere? Why ever leave home?

Mom and I continued to travel that way as we journeyed through America. Just a map and stopping when we got tired, never quite sure where we were going to end up. Wherever we stopped, that’s where we stopped. Talking about it now seems as foreign as the wild-west journeys by covered wagon. But people used to watch out for each other then and travelers could always rely on gas station attendants and friendly locals for free directions, bitter cups of coffee, and interesting conversations about little hometowns.

My brother, Ralph, always had the greatest advice. “Always get lost in a new town,” he suggested. “Whenever you’re lost, you have to force yourself to learn the city to get back. There’s no better way of learning about your surroundings.”

There was only one time in my life that I can ever remember ever getting horribly, desperately lost. I was five-years-old and thought of myself as a big girl. Everyday when I went to kindergarten, Grandma always dropped me off right at the front door. My classroom was just inside, first door on the left…however, over the last couple of weeks, I happened to notice that several of my classmates were coming into the classroom from the opposite direction. They were coming in through the backdoor, and for some reason, I thought that was really cool. So one day, I made up my mind that I did not want to go in to school though the “baby” front door and told my grandmother to drop me off at the back of the building. Grandma was very hesitant at first.

“Are you sure you know the way?” she must have asked me five times as she circled around to the back of the building. Of course…well, maybe…but what difference did it make…I was on the very first of many amazing journeys. Grandma stopped at the back of the building and…uh, oh, there were two doors about five feet apart.

“Are you sure you know which door to use?” Grandma started to worry again. “Let’s go back up front.”

But I couldn’t back down now. I quickly kissed her check, jumped out of the car, and without any hesitation, I walked to one of the doors. I just picked one. I swung it open, stepped inside…and was suddenly completely lost! I had no idea where I was! Did I turn around? No. Did I step back out and try the other door? No. I just started walking…and walking…and walking as if I knew where I was heading. But I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I just tried to pretend like I belonged (which seems to have become a running theme in my life!). I just ran up and down the hallways for about half an hour. The more I ran, the more confused I became. I started to panic and felt warm tears beginning to wind their way down my cheeks. The hallways were empty but I passed rooms full of people. I was just so very shy and didn’t know who to ask or what to say. So I kept walking as if I had somewhere to go…and I did…I just had no clue how to get there.

Suddenly, I turned a corner and out of nowhere there stood before me a young girl. She must have been about ten-years-old and she was holding the hand of a very small child. I don’t know who they were or where they came from? The young girl looked at me and said, “Are you looking for the kindergarten classes?” I couldn’t speak a word. I just shook my head. “Go that way,” she said pointing down the hallway behind her. “Just go to the end of the hallway.”

I took off at a run, even too shy and upset to say “thank you.” I ran down the hallway and there it was…my classroom. I stopped running now. I wiped my tears and then casually strolled into the room, hung up my coat and took my seat, shaking my head and acting as if I had meant to be fashionably late. The teacher, Mrs. Gilbertson, stared at me for just a moment but when I refused to say anything or show any kind of reaction, she simply went on with the class. The next day, Grandma dropped me off at the front door of the school and I never complained again. My big girl adventure was over.