Keep Driving
A Bad Extended Metaphor To Mark My Birthday
(Inspired by Springsteen and a giant margarita.)If life really is a highway, this was the year I was attacked by uncontrollable diarrhea between exits on the Pennsylvania Turnpike while simultaneously smearing a deer and getting sideswiped by an overpriced, gas-guzzling SUV.
It was pretty bad.
So I stood there for a while, at the side of Life Highway — covered in my own feces, deer guts plastered all over my car, tires blown out and steam bellowing from my radiator. And I won't lie. I cried. A lot. No one wants to stand along the side of Life Highway covered in their own shit and something else's shit, watching all the happy people singing with the radio and smiling and having a great time while you literally cannot imagine a time when you will not be standing by the side of the road — alone — covered in shit and crying.
But then the cavalry arrived from the access road. A friend brought some Charmin wipes and fresh clothes so I could scrub that shit off me. Family sprayed the deer gunk off my car. Some coworkers changed my tires. A friendly stranger peed in the radiator. And sooner than I'd imagined, I was back on the road.
It hasn't been an easy ride. I hit lots of potholes, run a little low on gas. (Take breaks to write blog posts with horrible extended metaphors.) I pass signs that remind me of the Shitstorm on Life Highway, see co-pilots in once-familiar cars whose inexplicably huge eyebrows and appeal I just don't understand. I see people together, in pairs and families, and I feel horribly forever alone.
But you don't escape the Shitstorm on Life Highway without learning a few things. Many things. Valuable things you would never have learned otherwise. When you're mired in your own filth, friends clean you up. When you're broken, family fixes you. When you're deflated, your support group whips out the air compressors and brings you back up to pressure. And sometimes, people you don't even know say or do something that makes you think "OK. Today I will stop standing by the side of the road crying and I will get back in the car and I will live."
And maybe, after all, the Shitstorm just showed me that I'd spent a long time driving the wrong direction. Maybe I missed an exit, or the Google Maps lady got me all confused and turned around until I didn't even know where I was anymore.
But that's done now.
This year I'm going to take some advice from The Boss and roll down the windows and let the wind blow back my hair. The night's busted open — these two lanes can take me anywhere.
I just have to keep driving.
So I stood there for a while, at the side of Life Highway — covered in my own feces, deer guts plastered all over my car, tires blown out and steam bellowing from my radiator. And I won't lie. I cried. A lot. No one wants to stand along the side of Life Highway covered in their own shit and something else's shit, watching all the happy people singing with the radio and smiling and having a great time while you literally cannot imagine a time when you will not be standing by the side of the road — alone — covered in shit and crying.
But then the cavalry arrived from the access road. A friend brought some Charmin wipes and fresh clothes so I could scrub that shit off me. Family sprayed the deer gunk off my car. Some coworkers changed my tires. A friendly stranger peed in the radiator. And sooner than I'd imagined, I was back on the road.
It hasn't been an easy ride. I hit lots of potholes, run a little low on gas. (Take breaks to write blog posts with horrible extended metaphors.) I pass signs that remind me of the Shitstorm on Life Highway, see co-pilots in once-familiar cars whose inexplicably huge eyebrows and appeal I just don't understand. I see people together, in pairs and families, and I feel horribly forever alone.
But you don't escape the Shitstorm on Life Highway without learning a few things. Many things. Valuable things you would never have learned otherwise. When you're mired in your own filth, friends clean you up. When you're broken, family fixes you. When you're deflated, your support group whips out the air compressors and brings you back up to pressure. And sometimes, people you don't even know say or do something that makes you think "OK. Today I will stop standing by the side of the road crying and I will get back in the car and I will live."
And maybe, after all, the Shitstorm just showed me that I'd spent a long time driving the wrong direction. Maybe I missed an exit, or the Google Maps lady got me all confused and turned around until I didn't even know where I was anymore.
But that's done now.
This year I'm going to take some advice from The Boss and roll down the windows and let the wind blow back my hair. The night's busted open — these two lanes can take me anywhere.
I just have to keep driving.
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