A dozen roses
While I was driving from Maine to Boston this morning, the light on my dashboard signifying that a door is opened was lit. Before I'd left Maine, I'd tried to open one of my back doors, and because of ice and snow on my car, the door wouldn't budge.
Apparently it had budged. Apparently I'd been driving with an opened door for miles on the highway.
I decided that when I reached the Maine Turnpike toll-booth in several miles, I would get out after I'd handed the toll-person my money and I'd close the door. This seemed safest, the best option for not getting smashed by a sleeping truck driver (which, by the way, happened to me in 1994).
The only problem was in my head. I thought that I may not get the permission of the toll-person to get out of my car and close the door.
I was right.
When I got to the toll-booth, I made the mistake of telling Mr. toll-man what I was about to do: get out and close my door.
"Your door's closed," he said.
"No, the back door, on the other side," I said.
"Well you can't - that guy is behind you." Mr. toll-man pointed to a big-ass truck behind me. "Pull to the end of that guard rail over there Ma'am, and do it there," fucker told me.
I acquiesced.
And I almost got hit. Mr. big truck came very close to hitting my car, me, as I was getting out to close the door that was indeed open. I was pissed. First at Mr. stupid-ass toll-man who had no regard for human life. What the hell? Just don't give me a hard time, dude, about getting out for 10 seconds tops and closing the door. This way I live and you get to spend the remainder of your days guilt-free about not having been the cause of a young woman's horrific death.
Then I got really mad at myself. What the hell? It's that old authority thing kicking in. The 'if I don't have permission to do something, then I can't do it' thing. Even if what I'm asking is permission to stay alive. Like, if my career choice, if my success, is somehow an affront to Dad, then I won't do it. The being trapped to do something you know is wrong for you because you don't want to disappoint someone else's expectation of you - even if that expectation is failure, pain, death.
This needs to stop. It's not okay anymore. The life I'm living is actually mine, and a good old fashioned confrontation is worth it sometimes. I don't owe anyone submissiveness. Sure, it probably saved my life as a kid, but now, things are different. So Mr. toll-booth may have called me a name. I would have then had the pleasure of a single-digit wave goodbye.
I wonder how many people's behaviors are automatic, unexamined reactions from damaged childhoods.
Are we really willful creatures?
***
I bought myself a dozen roses today.
jem
Apparently it had budged. Apparently I'd been driving with an opened door for miles on the highway.
I decided that when I reached the Maine Turnpike toll-booth in several miles, I would get out after I'd handed the toll-person my money and I'd close the door. This seemed safest, the best option for not getting smashed by a sleeping truck driver (which, by the way, happened to me in 1994).
The only problem was in my head. I thought that I may not get the permission of the toll-person to get out of my car and close the door.
I was right.
When I got to the toll-booth, I made the mistake of telling Mr. toll-man what I was about to do: get out and close my door.
"Your door's closed," he said.
"No, the back door, on the other side," I said.
"Well you can't - that guy is behind you." Mr. toll-man pointed to a big-ass truck behind me. "Pull to the end of that guard rail over there Ma'am, and do it there," fucker told me.
I acquiesced.
And I almost got hit. Mr. big truck came very close to hitting my car, me, as I was getting out to close the door that was indeed open. I was pissed. First at Mr. stupid-ass toll-man who had no regard for human life. What the hell? Just don't give me a hard time, dude, about getting out for 10 seconds tops and closing the door. This way I live and you get to spend the remainder of your days guilt-free about not having been the cause of a young woman's horrific death.
Then I got really mad at myself. What the hell? It's that old authority thing kicking in. The 'if I don't have permission to do something, then I can't do it' thing. Even if what I'm asking is permission to stay alive. Like, if my career choice, if my success, is somehow an affront to Dad, then I won't do it. The being trapped to do something you know is wrong for you because you don't want to disappoint someone else's expectation of you - even if that expectation is failure, pain, death.
This needs to stop. It's not okay anymore. The life I'm living is actually mine, and a good old fashioned confrontation is worth it sometimes. I don't owe anyone submissiveness. Sure, it probably saved my life as a kid, but now, things are different. So Mr. toll-booth may have called me a name. I would have then had the pleasure of a single-digit wave goodbye.
I wonder how many people's behaviors are automatic, unexamined reactions from damaged childhoods.
Are we really willful creatures?
***
I bought myself a dozen roses today.
jem
posted by jemcollections at 8:50 PM
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