Herculean effort

Yesterday I exerted Herculean efforts and this morning I am basking in the feeling of accomplishment.

I drove my car, my paid off Jeep that at this moment has 114,000 miles on it, seven hours from Santa Fe to Denver and I got us to Denver in time to have a birthday dinner with my dear daughter Ava.

Nina, her sister who is only a year and a half older, was with me of course, and she many time offered to drive, but she also encouraged me because she knew this was a big damn deal for me.

I...I whose mother was so afraid of escalators, entrance ramps, elevators, train crossings, so many things...I drove through the mountainous region from New Mexico to Colorado like a bad ass. I did it. I didn't freak out. I did not lose control of my car. I did not have to pull over and cry. I didn't have to put my coat over my head and sit in the back seat while my daughter drove. I didn't get mad and start yelling and blaming things on my daughter. These are actions I know about but I chose not to employ any of them.

I chose to drive the car like the bad ass person I am, and I succeeded.

Okay, I did keep repeating during the most difficult parts, when the road seemed to sort of plummet from the highlands to the lowlands, I did repeat out loud, "I have faith in Gravity. I believe in myself. Gravity is working and we are being held down safely to the Earth. The car is not out of control, everything is fine...." stuff like that.

Nina was laughing, but not in a mean way.

She kept saying, "You're doing it Mom!"

I will admit that at the steepest or most harrowing sections of road I put my hazard lights on and went about forty miles an hour.

I admit that.

But hey, it got me through and my car is fine and my daughter is not disgusted with me, and I delivered us to Ava in time to give her a little birthday party.

I do what I do on this full time artist career of mine to dispel all the fears that paralyzed me and threatened to ruin my children when I was a young mother, and before that when I was in my twenties.

I was afraid, and radically unafraid.

That was a bad combo.

I did some reckless things and I hurt people, and later, as a mother, I was erratic in my confident and loving parenting.

Let me say this, as I suddenly remembered yesterday, and said out loud to my first born child who had to learn about fear along side of a mother who was learning about fear, somewhere on a mountain road in New Mexico, I told Nina that my dearly departed recently deceased brother Brad Dundon, never learned to drive.

He used to say, "Are you kidding me? I'm not getting behind the wheel of one of those death missiles." 

Our Mom did a number on us, and where she didn't, our Dad did.

But who cares?

Not me!

I just drove seven hours through the mountains without incident and made it to my daughter's birthday with bells on my toes!

And, lastly, by the way, my kids are all great unafraid confident and competent drivers.

So there, take that, hand of Fate.

I just arm wrestled you and won.



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