Driving Home The Point

I'm hopeful about this consult on Friday. I never, EVER, thought that I would see a psychiatrist. Not in my lifetime. Is it bizarre that it just never crossed my mind? I have never thought less of anyone else for it, but it was always something *other* people did. Just another step in this learning process, I suppose. I'm learning so much.

I looked at T on Sunday, in the midst of another discussion about all of this, and said "I just want to feel better - to BE better. Whatever that means, whatever is required, I want to do THAT."

And he said "What if this is just life? What if this is as good as it gets? What if nobody is really happy?"

("As Good As It Gets"... one of my favorites, for a plethora of reasons -- and because I got my mother to watch it with me a few years ago and made her admit that she liked a movie WITH A HOMOSEXUAL CHARACTER!) Ah the little battles we enjoy winning.... she may have just been humoring me, but I don't think so. I think she really "got it" in the same way I did. Another bridge across the space between us.

But I digress.

"You mean, everyone just pretends? That EVERYONE who seems happy is just pretending?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, something like that. Yes."

I looked at him blankly. Then I burst into tears. "I won't believe that. I CAN'T believe that."

I told him I needed to get out. I needed to escape the house for a little while. The boys were both napping and there was plenty of time before they would wake up. And so, I got in the car and started driving.

I took a turn down the way onto a road I haven't explored before, and found it wound up and around the countryside. I passed neighborhoods I had never seen before, acres of corn and tall grasses. I went through shaded hollows and down the lane, which widened and narrowed as it traversed the hillsides. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was alone in the car for the first time in a very long time. I turned the stereo up loud, much louder than I ever do with the boys in the car, the way I did years ago. I let the sounds of The Cowboy Junkies wash over me, a melancholy hymn in my lonely little car.

I drove further than I had intended and began to wonder if I should turn around. There was no knowing where this road would lead me. But it was peaceful in the car, with the windows rolled down and the sun shining on me and the music coursing through me. I thought briefly how it might feel to just keep driving, until I hit the ocean or ran out of gas. The chatter in my head was quiet for a moment, and I didn't want to give that up. I didn't want to go back and crawl back into my skin and reshoulder my responsibilities.

Then I saw the black fringe of Jack's eyelashes, the curve of Toby's cheek. I saw the twinkle of T's eyes and that particular twist of his mouth when he's hiding his smile. Home was calling to me, and it wasn't such a responsibility after all.

And just like that, the winding road I was on rejoined the highway. I didn't have to turn around after all. By continuing forward, I had found my way again.

It was with a much clearer head that I pulled back into the driveway. It was also with the memory of a time long past, one I can't remember exactly - like trying to remember the details of the first house I lived in. I get a vague sense but can't recall any of the details. I rememberd a time when I was happy. Unafraid and unburdened by life. Because I didn't know any better.

We all have it, however brief it may be - that time when we accept life at face value, and experience our reality in a very immediate and innocent sort of way.

So the challenge ahead, as I see it, is to learn to do that again as best I can. Oh, I know we can never go back to the wide-eyed innocence of our youth - nor would I choose to. But we can be childlike in our wonder, learn to see the world around us again. We can relearn to take nothing for granted.

If swallowing my pride and sitting meekly before a psychiatrist can give me the insights required to go forward... well, then answering every uncomfortable question about myself might just be worth the price of admission.

Turning around might get me there faster, but I'd be passing all the same scenery on my way back and ending up exactly where I started.

But if I keep forging ahead, though the way forward is uncertain, I may just find that my little road rejoins the highway. And who knows? Maybe I'll end up closer to home than I think.