Laughing, my favorite naturopathic physician Dr. K, looked up at me inquisitively. A timeless brunette beauty, petite in her signature hot pink scrubs, I could see her brilliant mind working to fit the pieces together.1
My ailment didn’t match the Me she knew. The Me I was before, that is. Carefree. Curious. With a tad-spicy irreverence. Not a 10-and-2 type of gal.
The Me standing before Dr. K under the fluorescent lights in the hallway of her office was defeated. Washed out. Worn out. With a brave grin as proof that I was just fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Yes, doing great!
The Me standing before Dr. K had what she dubbed a “trucker’s injury.” Here’s the best way I can think to explain it.
Put your device down for a moment. No really, go hands free for just a moment.
Now. Take a deep breath. As you exhale, throw your arms out like Rose did as Jack held her at the Titanic’s helm.
Still holding your arms straight out, inhale while moving your arms behind you until your hands touch.
Exhale as you clasp your hands together.
Again, breathe in deeply as you stretch.
Exhale once more. Relax and unclasp your hands. Feels great, yes?
That stretch would have felt great. But my right arm wouldn’t cooperate. If I tried to press it back, even a centimeter from the Rose-at-helm “I’m flying” stance, a stabbing pain would shoot like lightening through my tricep and into my shoulder.
I’d sustained this trucker’s injury by driving too long with my hands locked in the 10-and-2 position on the steering wheel of my little dark-red Audi.
Dr. K had only ever known me in recent years—in that narrow snapshot of time, a free spirit dancing through life healthy and happy and a bit off beat. What she’d never have suspected?
I drive like an old lady.
That’s right. I said it. I drive like a very old lady drives, just before her kids hold an intervention and take the keys away. Barely hitting the speed limit, moseying along in the far right-hand lane. Muttering under my breath about damn tailgaters. And, you guessed it. Hands quite properly at 10-and-2.
When I first brought that Audi home in 2018, my daughter named it Sia. (If you don’t name your vehicles, I do Love you but I don’t understand you.)
At that time, I was listening to Sia. A lot. Her album This is Acting on repeat: Reaper, Alive, Bird Set Free, Unstoppable, House on Fire. Sia was singing my Life, y’all! And I absorbed every song, every lyric, every beat. Deeply.
Since this car had some zip to her, Mackenzie declared with a grin, “Get it? Like see-ya!” The irony.
Day 1. If this little car had known in 2018 what would happen in 2021, she’d have stalled out right there on the lot! She is dented, scratched, battered, and real-dawg-dirty. Still, beloved.
In the year before I ended up in Dr. K’s office with said trucker’s injury, I’d put roughly 44,444 miles on Sia. At least. At some point, I lost count. I’ll land at 44,444 because angel number 444 serves as a reminder that you are on the right path (whether it makes sense now or not).
Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth from Atlanta to Florida, all 97 glorious pounds of Apollo stretched out in the back seat. This big boy is a Great Pyreneese rescue pup who lives for a car ride.
Once we’d get to our 25 mph beach road (a lovely speed, if you ask me), I’d roll down Apollo’s favorite back-driver’s-side window so he could stretch his head out into the salty air, breeze sending his long white hair flying. Tourists would stop and point. Drivers behind us sometimes took photos through the glare of their windshield. He’s a vibe.
Sounds dreamy, right? Sia. Beach. Dog. Except for the 44,444 miles in one year. Yes, I’d tight-gripped 10-and-2’d it for 44,444 solid miles.
I can just hear my Momma now, if she’d been here to bear witness. “Ashley Kay! What in the world … ?” I still don’t have a good explanation. The best I can offer is this.
I accidentally owned a wine shop.
I won’t get into the details. Suffice it to say, I was a silent investor in the cutest wine shop everrrrr, which was situated in a small coastal town about an hour from my Florida fixer-upper. The business was doing great. Until overnight, it wasn’t.
Through a series of unfortunate, unreal, unpleasant events that do not bear repeating (because there is Only Love Today), I became responsible for the cutest wine shop everrrrr …. 333 miles from my Atlanta apartment and 55 minutes from my place in Seagrove Beach.
So I’d say goodbye to my kids on Sunday mornings, drive to Florida, do what I could for the shop while doing legal work, drive back to Atlanta on Thursday mornings to make it back for afternoon carpool (as per the custody schedule), then do it all over again on Sunday morning. Nearly every week.
Wait, what? I know. Believe me, I know.
But have you ever just gone into autopilot? You just. Go. No time to think. Just. Go!
Actually, I’d say it was more like hydroplaning. It happens in times of great stress, when we can’t catch enough traction to stop spinning. In the spinning, we lose direction. Then we lose control.
Of course, we know that the scene in the rearview mirror offers an entirely different perspective than the scene whizzing by the windshield. In hindsight, I should have cut my losses. Sure. Ob-vi-ous-ly!
Except by then, my Heart was involved. I loved the place, the people, the idea, the challenge, the dream that was never my dream. All of it. I truly loved it.
I stopped making rational decisions. I held on too tightly. Far too tightly. And I ended up with a literal—and figurative—trucker’s injury. Inflexible. Unable to move without wincing in pain.
Lesson, y’all. The tighter the grip, the more certain the slip.
Holding on too tightly only amplifies the tension. Tension leads to fatigue. Fatigue diminishes reaction time. Inflexibility is, as it turns out, unsafe.
It’s been 22 months since the wine shop closed. You could see that coming, right? Probably long before I could. That was One Wild Ride! It’s taken most of those 22 months to resume a steady cruising speed. Almost there. Almost.
These days, the drive to Seagrove Beach is once again filled with happy anticipation. The back seat is filled with Apollo. And Mazie.
I still drive like an old lady. My hands still stay mostly at 10-and-2. But I’m not holding on so tightly. That is by Grace.
On the last drive down, I was reflecting on this question: Where am I holding on too tightly?
As I sat with that question, several more emerged. I’ll share them with you here. Perhaps they’ll serve as journal prompts—for me, there’s nothing like pen to paper. Or maybe they’ll prompt a discussion with yourself out loud during a nature walk—for my friend Katie, whom I got to hug big this week, a self-talk nature-walk is where it’s at.2
Consider these, Dear Reader.
Where am I holding on too tightly? Why? What am I afraid of? Where does this desire for control come from? Is it serving me? How is it impacting others around me? Is this sustainable? At what cost?
If I were to loosen my grip, what would happen? Would that really happen? Or is my imagination on hyperdrive? Who in my life can help me gain some perspective here?
Where do I need to get a grip? Are there areas in my Life that have gotten out of control? Of course there are. Can I bring it back to center? Keep it between the ditches, but how?
What do I need to let go of altogether? Oh, letting go can be so hard! Should I admit defeat? Is it defeat, actually, or would re-defining this serve me well? Can I look at the lessons? Will I take ownership for my part? Is Forgiveness essential in the releasing? If so, how do I soften my Heart toward others, toward myself? If I release this, what will it create space for in this beautiful chaos we call Life?
Do let me know how this goes. It’s all a cycle—the holding dear, clutching tight, easing grip, releasing, learning, and back to holding dear.
Meanwhile, there’s a bit less Sia and a bit more Zach Bryan these days. And I know his East Side of Sorrow lyrics to be true.
The sun’s gonna rise tomorrow Somewhere on the east side of sorrow Don’t give it a reason to follow Let it be, then let it go Let it be, then let it go
Dear Reader, thank you for the Grace this week, a little late but always here. Life happens. Thank you for reading. For sharing Life. You might not Love my driving, but I do Love riding with you. XO, Ash
Consider the Meditation for Women podcast, one of many beautiful listens created by Katie. https://womensmeditationnetwork.com I so love the wisdom my friend shares in this Hello from Katie podcast.
Just the message I needed. Thank You.
Oooh I love that Zach Bryan song! Shoulda joined you for that concert.
More to talk about… :)