Perhaps fate or some higher power is telling me to stop testing my luck...This winter, so far, I've had at least three absolutely horrific drives home - snow, ice, fog - take your pick. And each time that I've come through it and breathed a sigh of relief I couldn't help but wonder why (and sometimes how) I got through it.
The most recent one was last night - roads coated with sheets of black ice, on top of it a fresh powder of snow, a dark night, anti-lock brakes useless, hilly road, followed by a highway, and a lot of people on the road who seem to have turned off their brain the moment they turned on the ignition.
After a few minutes behind the wheel and the first time I had to brake, I realized that I lost all control over my car. There was a car in front of me which I was rapidly approaching and there was absolutely nothing I could do except try to swerve out of the way and maneuver between it (a van) and the sidewalk to my right. Of course, swerving sharply is just a recipe for disaster all in itself. But I did turn the wheel and I could feel the car sliding, wheels locking and the car trying to desperately kick in the anti-lock brakes and failing.
We slid through the space between the sidewalk and the van (and don't ask me how, I have no idea), and kept on going, continuing to turn right even though the light was red. Thankfully there were no cars coming from the left, but even if there had been, there was nothing I could do to stop at that point. The wheels regained traction once we got onto the cross street and the nightmare continued for another hour until I finally got home.
During the entire ride, I remember talking out loud, trying to convince myself that I'm all right, that everything will be fine, that I'll make it home and all will be well. I'm all for self-delusion and I'm fairly good with words, but it wasn't working. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my breath failing and my eyes filling with tears each time I pressed on the brake and the car shuddered, unable to obey the commands it's used to. We were in each other's hands and both entirely helpless. Not a good feeling...
Which brings me back to the topic of the post.
As I was going to bed, I was thinking about the distinction between losing control and giving it to someone else. For someone like me who's used to either having control or fighting to get it, to suddenly find myself in a situation where I'm powerless is frightening enough. But although the end result is the same - you have no control over your body, your actions, sometimes even your speech - the way you get there does make a big difference.
Losing control when you didn't want to is demoralizing. It makes you feel helpless and scared and depressed. It can feel hopeless. And without an immediate way of regaining it, it's tempting to just give up and stop trying. Unintended loss of control is holding a delicate porcelain teacup in your hand and then watching in horror as it slips out of your fingers and shatters on the marble slabs beneath your feet.
And then there is handing control over to someone else. It's holding that same porcelain teacup and placing it in the open hands of someone you trust to cherish and protect it as you do. It's knowing that the person you're giving it to will hold it for you and will return it to you when it's time.
Giving up control is not a loss at all. Giving it to the right person can be an experience of immense freedom, release, and joy. It can feel like taking off layers and layers of heavy clothes, feeling the lightening with each removal. It's the first breath of fresh air you take when you step outside on a beautiful spring day. It's opening a fist that's been clenched for so long you've forgotten it can be opened and finding that letting go doesn't mean you'll fall.
Not if the right person is holding the porcelain teacup.
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