The Girl Is Alright

A timing belt, a hug, a snake.

On my way out my therapist’s door last week, I said, “I’ll come back next week with my identity secured around the worth of my soul,” and she laughed and said, “I really don’t expect that,” and I laughed too and said, “I know, I’m just joking.”

One of the things that gives me the most anxiety is driving and car-related stuff. My car is a 2001 Volvo that we got off a repo lot (without a title, oops!) probably like eight years ago. The weather stripping is gone, the seats are split open, and if you drive over uneven pavement it feels like you’re getting raptured. When I remember, I try to send it good and thankful vibes for the exceptionally long distances it’s carried me, but mostly I expect to break down on the side of the road at any moment. I think of breaking up with this car constantly, but the thought of buying a new or expensively used car is even worse than the thought of breaking down.

I have anxiety around driving because big machinery seems deathly unnatural to me, and because I’m aware of my lack of expertise about mechanics and therefore feel vulnerable and helpless when I need help with my car and I know mechanics might rip me off and I wouldn’t know. Also repairs are rarely cheap, and if I break down, everything else in my day or week has to get rearranged. Not only do I lack control, I’m not even able to plan for these insecurities very well. I hate to feel at the mercy of chance.

Two weeks ago, the heating stopped working in my car. Then it started to make some new rattling and chugging and whining sounds. I knew something wasn’t quite right, but it was still running and no lights were on, so what’s a girl to do but keep going? Yesterday morning after I got home from dropping the boys off at school, I could hear yet another whine after I’d turned the car off, but it subsided before too long. I have been thinking of taking it to the shop for some preventative diagnostics but as mentioned, the time and cost involved always makes me hesitate.

I had to go grocery shopping, and most of the way there I noticed that the engine temperature dial was above normal and quickly climbing. I pulled over to let it cool off. On the side of the road I was flipping through the car manual and googling what sort of coolant this car takes, then mapping whether there were any auto parts shops nearby. While reading about how to fill coolant (NOT straight water, like the Wakhan bus drivers in the mirage of my memory) in the manual, I noticed that if a timing belt ($$$) is worn or dirty, it can cause “poor cooling and low alternator output as well as impair the operation of the power steering and the air conditioning unit.” That fits, and confirmed a suspicion I’d had based on the increased lurching; it’s hard to tell with my car because the suspension is shot so everything is quite rattly to begin with.

I was only 2.5 miles from the grocery store by then, so I continued on, watching the temperature gauge go up quickly. If I had to stop every few miles on the way home to let the engine cool, so be it. I did my grocery shopping. I was starting to feel a little sick with anxiety, my stomach was hurting and I thought I might cry. It’s okay if you cry, I thought, this is a valid reason. There was a tire and brake place across the street, so I drove over there (temperature rising) and - what luck! - an actual auto parts shop across the street from the tire place.

I told the gal at the auto parts shop the make of my car and that “I think” I need blue or green coolant. They had one option, and it was the same brand as what a google result was suggesting, so I bought it. Then I couldn’t figure out how to open my car hood. Back to the manual. I got it open, but the holdy-up-stick is long gone from my car (I knew this). Think. I can either go into the shop and ask for help (fine), or do this:

I knew where the coolant tank was because I saw it in the manual. Of course it was bone dry, fuck. I poured the greater part of the large jug of coolant in (spilling some, hoping my engine wouldn’t burst into flames and all my groceries rot while I’m stranded) until I got it to the full marker.

I pulled out of the lot toward home. The temperature gauge stayed right where it’s supposed to be, I could barely believe it. My windows were down because it’s hot in this beautiful, and beautifully smelling, spring. I was so relieved, and I can’t believe that worked! I don’t know what chemical was flooding my brain (probably testosterone) but I felt like this:

and I wished to bottle it and take shots. This must be how people revving oversized trucks through hurricane force rain runoff feel. I am an alpha animal. I’d probably be a great athlete. Or even a mechanic, considering my rock solid intuition. Is this how bros feel all the time? A total absence of humility, unbridled self confidence? I need more. 

The euphoria lasted about 20 minutes. Next time I got in the car, I had to hold the timing belt in sync with my mind (that’s estrogen). 

On Sunday I was standing in line for oreo and black sesame swirl soft serve with the boys. The people in front of us were getting one cup to split between their pups, Luna and Butters. My dog was cowering in the rows of asparagus 100 yards away while we humans chatted about dog stuff. Behind us was a group with several young children, including a girl with hot pink shoes in a wheelchair. They were standing next to us having come down from the raised deck behind us, and so the girl was also petting Luna.

I was wearing my black shirt with a screen print of Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi on it, which might be one of those “a time and a place” garments, but it’s comfy and so it’s been on heavy rotation. I used to wear a lot of clothing that made people stare, and I’d forgotten how litmusy it can be.

The little girl in the wheelchair suddenly looked at me and said, “will you hug me?” I was so surprised that I said, “Me? You want me to hug you?” And she confirmed, and so of course I gave her the biggest hug and introduced myself, and asked her her name, and what flavor ice cream was she going to choose? Her name was Lucy Marie (“how beautiful,” I said) and she was getting chocolate (“lucky you!”).

She really made my day. There was no space to ask the “whys.” I don’t think it was something I said and she probably didn’t notice my beheading shirt at all. I don’t think a stranger has ever asked me for a hug before. I felt spiritually seen, reminded that I not only have a core but that it’s radiant, even when it’s hidden from me. What a gift, what a gift.

Last year on my birthday, which I didn’t celebrate because I was feeling too depressed, I was clearing some leaves in the garden and I came across a small silver snake. Jonas called from work to wish me happy birthday and I told him about the snake. I hadn’t seen it for more than a flash because it was nosing under leaves to get away from me, but it seemed silver, and I hadn’t seen that before. Jonas texted later to say there are no silver snakes here, but that in some Indigenous beliefs, a silver snake is a magical encounter.

Later I found the snake again in the brush and got a better look and was able to identify it (later still) as a juvenile molting Dekay’s brownsnake (storeria dekayi). But I’m not one to discredit a good omen.

Shedding a skin is painful and cloudy, but it has to happen so that there’s room to grow. I got tired of the things I was good at and I can’t always locate my core because I am perpetually molting. I forget who I am or what I want to be. I lack a steadiness that seems to me The Thing to Have. But one thing about me is that my spirit is mostly always an open door, an outstretched hand. And whether it’s myself or a stranger or a symbol, I’m just about always ready to grasp what reaches out to me.

I was not, after all, joking with my therapist.