selves

I’m riding in the car alone. This happens more often these days with the in-laws in town. (yes, they are still here!!) At first I found myself still considering Lukas. I would keep the music down and the windows up and jump at loud noises for fear that they would wake him. But as I grow strangely accustomed to my new/old singularity I find myself considering me a bit more.

My father is cleaning out the old storage shed causing frequent visits with dirty boxes filled with treasures and junk. I have so far received my old doll house with pieces of miniature broken furniture, several dusty frames, a few old sketch books which are mostly empty, a set of mis-matched dishes from college and a box of much missed cassettes loaded with memories and youthful angst. I immediately dug through the sticky dirty tapes and secretly loaded my glove compartment with nostalgia.

These days when I find myself alone in the auto I can’t crank the music loud enough. An unusual mix of Tori Amos, Liz Phair, Courtney Love and Sarah McLaughlin wail and curse with me as I cruise wildly down the road and for a few moments I don’t feel like a mother. I feel like me. Or I feel like the old me, which isn’t really me anymore, so it’s sort of like visiting an old friend and asking her how I look these days. Does she recognize me? Would she approve? Is this the image she had of the mommy she would one day become?
When I was younger I used to often consult the old woman me. When I had to make some seemingly big decision I would say to her. Is this the story that you want to tell to your grandchildren as they gather round you? Am I letting you down? Are you going to have to lie to make the story good or will the story really BE good? Do you want to say that you stood beside the cold February water in Wales and were afraid to jump in or do you want to say that stripped off your clothes and screamed as you felt the sea swallow and stir your fears? My old woman self was a great guru.
As I drive barefoot, head shaking, hair whipping my neck I start to think that perhaps I am now getting just far enough away from the young girl me that I can look to her for some advice. I have landed somewhere in the middle without my even realizing it. And I smile as I tap the wheel and sing the old songs because it doesn't feel so far from the piture I might have had. These paths we carve for ourselves in youthful visions. The map of personal expections.
So here I am... the road remains open and I'm sitting behind the wheel in a car that just keeps moving....moving....moving.