Introduction: Day one of the rest of my life.

2/10/2018

Learning to Drive

Ok, women everywhere; all shapes, sizes, colors, ages, this is my official confession and plea for mercy.

I can’t drive.

This isn’t about a car. I have a driver’s license. I have a car. I drive that car every day around the insane freeway network that is DFW, Texas.

So, I’ll explain.

I’ve just emerged from a depression induced coma that started the Sunday after Thanksgiving; when my husband of almost 20 years told me, he was having an affair, one that he didn’t intend to end.  He said “for the first time in years” he was happy, attracted to someone (ouch), and in love.  He’d fallen out of love with me and wanted a separation.

So now, here I am, two months later, crawling out from under the rubble of that bomb blast.  I emerge 20 pounds lighter, (Yes, I had wanted to lose that weight anyway; maybe not in that particular way.) and with no clear direction before me.  I am currently more emotionally stable, by this I mean that the nightly double pour of wine has calmed me to the point that I no longer burst into tears as a thought or remembrance or song fragment darts across my senses. My therapist, family and friends all want me to use this separation as a time to strengthen myself. But first I must face some truths. 

For (almost) 20 years, I was a bohemian yoga loving home-maker, homeschooling mom, classical and choral singer by night. I cooked, cleaned, transported our daughter to girl scouts and dance classes, shopped, did laundry, gardened, composted, planned family trips and holidays, I thought I was the picture of female independence and liberal thinking. I went to yoga regularly, I meditated, I was the queen of spontaneity, fun, organizing parties, dinners, lives, keeping an awesome home and even doing all of the landscaping myself.  I was such a positive influence on my daughter. 

But I have no business world skills or anything, other than a bachelor’s degree in vocal performance, to name as hiring qualities.  I am the worst with technology. I avoid and fear all things corporate. What I make yearly as an independently contracted singing “gig artist” would furnish a refrigerator box under the freeway. (A nice refrigerator box, but still...)

Growing up in the 70’s & 80’s, my mom was the ultimate housewife. Ever present, immaculate house, fresh baked cookies, nightly dinners, (With dessert, we’re not animals.)  packed lunches, you name it.  But, she couldn’t drive.  We only had one car. Dad drove it to work every weekday, to the grocery store with mom on Saturday, and on family picnics into the mountains every Sunday.  Then dad got sick. Really sick, and mom had to find a way to get to the hospital, to get the kids where they needed to go.  She had to learn to drive. When dad couldn’t work, mom had to find her first job, in her 40’s. She had to pay the bills and figure out how to run the family if the worst happened. She had to care for school aged kids and an ill husband.   I never understood the depth of what must have been a crippling fear, until now.  In my childish way, I was embarrassed for her, such an old-school woman, obsolete to my modern way of thinking. I used to think I’d never be like that, so I got my driver’s license the day I turned 16, and I was so cocky, thinking it all had to do with a car.

And now here I am; I don’t know passwords to pay the bills, I don’t know how to set up auto drafts or online bill pay, I don’t know where the life insurance policies or the will are, I don’t make 1/5 of what he makes yearly. I’m 44.

I have to learn to drive.

In the plus column:  I have a multitude of wonderful inspiration in the form of friends and co-workers in the arts world; a true family. Conspirators in my cloud chasing ways. I have my beloved yogi friends. I have the most beautiful daughter; a warrior-ess I can aspire to. I have a mother who DID learn to drive and successfully took care of a family and husband with love and compassion; surpassing any obstacle with an iron will and a tender soul.  I have endless adventures to draw from: travel, singing, yoga; all past landmarks of an amazing life filled with adventure, hilarity, growth, and blessings beyond compare. No matter the sadness currently blanketing me, I am in no way ungrateful for all I know that I have. My cup runneth over.

This blog will be my sounding board, my cry for help, my wailing wall, and eventually, my victory dance. It’s day one of the rest of my life. Will I start a business to teach yoga to singers, the traumatized, the imprisoned? Will I find a way to become a professional road tripper? (Because, funny twist, I LOVE to drive. Road trips and what I’ve termed “cloud chasing” are some of my favorite things.) Will I travel the world and live by singing for my supper? Will someone help me realize my goal to make a living as a traveling, eating, walking, journaling hippie? My child has flown the nest, it’s just me and my passion for singing, hiking, travel, adventure of any kind. It’s just me in my quest to rediscover self-confidence and self-worth. It’s just me and a desire to trade in tears for much-preferred laughter and joy filled days.  I have no map yet, no clear path, just a new-born (and oh so frail) resolve to learn to drive; to navigate my own life and road.  I’ll become that role model for my daughter yet, just wait.