I have a story that I don’t drive.
But you know what,
Driving isn’t like doing a back hand spring or hearing ghosts. It’s not a thing I’m (currently!) incapable of. It’s a choice to do a scary thing and then not quit until it’s complete.
And I’m great at committing to things until they no longer serve me. I’ve proven that.
So this weekend I drove.
I rented a car.
I put my name and my name alone down for the insurance, ensuring that I’d be the only person on the trip who drove.
I drove at night.
I drove on highways and on windy country roads.
I drove with my brights on!
I drove past deer!
I drove in thick white fog.
And you know what, when I got scared I just slowed down and kept going.
I brought myself down to a speed where I could feel comfortable keeping on keeping on.
I got lost.
I got found.
I got me and my loves home safe and sound.
So that’s part 1. Part 2 is that contributing this very specific gift to the weekend meant that it felt easy to not contribute other things. To know that I was doing enough, giving enough, and could choose to take care of myself instead of wearing myself thin. To take a nap before a long late drive even though everyone else was cleaning.
I’m grateful that I had the guts to get a license, to rent a car, to do all the little steps I had been telling myself I couldn’t do.
I can do anything.
Just as long as I don’t tell myself I can’t.