Life-isms : A Meeting with Dirt

Tuesday was my first day of class. Big day, right?

Yeah, I am 38 years old. I should so be over the whole ‘back to school jitters’, but the last time I entered a class for more than recreational, non-credit, no-risk purposes was in 2000. That’s more than 12 years to work up some jitters.

Besides, 12 years ago I was younger, more naive and clearly less seasoned. Back then, I had a full head of steam. I was going to conquer the world. It was not a question of “if I would do amazing things”, but rather “how many amazing things I would do?” Then, I went off to the ‘real world’ and that head of gusto was quickly changed by the realities of corporate politics and living the corporate life.  I won’t dive into it right here, stay tuned. I also won’t pretend that I failed at my mission of success. Quite contrary, I did lots of impressive things and, by all measures of society, I was very successful. The reality that hit me was that all the measures didn’t satisfy me personally.

So, that brings me to day one of class. Externally, I was keeping it all under wraps, but tons of thoughts were gurgling and bubbling through my head like a rapidly boiling water in a pressure cooker. I bubbled up many high-priority objectives and high on the high-priority list was the many, many options I had to get to class.  There was and still are many combinations of trains, buses, bikes, walks and subways for my new commute. It was a complex, multi-variable problem to consider and optimize all the schedule, time, distance, route, effort and, of course, enjoy-ability options. On top of all this, my old driven, over-achieving self ambitiously scheduled a work meeting that very morning before class.  It was a new job and the logic of a meeting before my first day of class probably landed squarely in that ‘I will do amazing things’ mentality. Unfortunately, the person I was meeting was also okay canceling 90-minutes beforehand and requesting a phone call instead.  With so much going through my head, it was really hard. . . neigh. . . it was impossible for me to process this last minute change.  But I sure did try.

Had I been clear-headed, I would have simply accepted the phone call and headed to our planned meeting location to take the call.  Instead, my brain went into problem-solving mode. I started going through options for rejiggering my commute. Could I move the call earlier and I could commute afterwards? Could I skip the bike ride and take the call from the train? Could I go to a different location and leave later? Could I try out even worse ideas that I won’t even embarrass myself by mentioning here?  In the end, I burned so much time thinking that I ended up behind schedule.  So, when I landed back on that original clear-headed solution – go to the original location and take the call – I had to rush quickly hopping on my bike and hoping I would make it there in time to catch the call.

Yep, that is a recipe for disaster.  As I road a dirt path, one which I ride regularly, I didn’t take my normal precautions through a sharp turn that tends to pile up with loose dirt, gravel and sand. I use smooth road tires on my mountain bike for commuting and they simply don’t play well at a meeting with dirt.  My head was not calm and I was hurrying.   I remember mentally mapping out the route ahead as I approached the corner. Perhaps, I should have taken a 20-breath, 3-minute mind-centering zen pose to clear my head before I got on the bike.  I didn’t.  Naturally, that makes sense now, but I am sure my brain would have fought burning another 3-minutes before hitting the road.

So, I took a spill at that corner.

I have had worse where bone crunching and surgery were involved. Youth war wounds. I also seem to have had more resiliency back then too. On this day, resiliency was non-existent. I sat in the dirt and cried. I called Oivind and wailed. I nearly furthered my injury by sticking my finger in the teeth of my chainring. I snapped at the nice man who stopped to ask if I needed help. Wish I could take at least that last one back.  Three minutes of mind-centering would have helped me right now too. Three minutes and maybe my drama wouldn’t have escalated this very moment into complete despair and streaks of tears.  Yeah, I was hurt, but this reaction, the crocodile tears and sobbing were all so much bigger than the physical hurt.  My pressure cooker cracked open and out rushed the hot, gurgling, bubbling liquid.

Luckily, I did have enough sense to get my chain on, keep all my fingers and ride the 1/2-mile back home. Unfortunately, Oivind, who couldn’t understand me through my wailing, got in the car to come get me. I got home, bloodied and filthy.  I was alone.  I resigned myself to sit on the floor, feel sorry for myself and wallow in enough self-hatred that Jethro, my dog, knew to hide.  I was blinded by the thought, “Was I really trying to sabotage my big change-of-life moment?”  When he got back, in my best toddler-fell-down impression, I even wailed to my Oivind, ” I’m not going to class.” I cried that I was quitting and going back to doing the work I hated.

Thankfully, my  patient-at-this-particular-moment husband kindly cleaned me up and got the bandages. He offered me perhaps the best stop-wailing-sober-up-and-pull-your-shit-together thing for the moment. He handed me a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a gauze pad and said, “I think you should do this because it might sting.”  And with large patches of road rash from ankle to knee and wrist to shoulder, he was wrong.  It wasn’t going to sting, it was going to be a burning inferno.  The eminent pain to come was enough to snap me out of my self-pity moment and focus on the task at hand.

As I got over my I-am-going-to-quit moment and canceled my meeting all together, my stubborn-headed self was still determined to execute on of my commuting options. Getting in the car was not one of them. Driving routes and parking had never entered my optimization routine.  Like the change of meeting, it was not information I could process.  The pressure cooker was still too full.  So, I started piecing together new train, bus, subway routes. Yeah, in writing this now, I totally know I was in a very bad mental space, but if you’ve ever been to one yourself you know that basic, common sense is impossible.

For the second time that day, time made my decision for me. Can you believe I was actually paid to manage big projects, programs and teams with timelines, deadlines and deliverables?  Sorting out commute options, unloading my paneers, and getting my bandages fixed left me with one option – getting a ride from Oivind.  He knew I would take the ride well before I knew I would so, he arranged parking for himself.  He also knew more than I did how momentous this day was.

Really though, I didn’t want to admit to myself it was anything more than just another day. Despite writing this blog, despite talking incessantly about my “Life 2.0”, despite all the self-referential mid-life crisis drama talk, I wanted to will this day into normalcy. I wanted it to be so normal, it would be a breeze to pile on a meeting and optimize my perfect commute and enjoy my first class. Do my first, next amazing thing by making this day and every day look simple, easy, normal.  How could it not be? I am educated.  I am experienced. I am skilled. I have managed multi-million dollar projects and teams of people. I have all the tools I need.  I wanted to be 38, confident, self-assured, juggling all my self-inflicted high priorities like a seasoned pro and 100% free of first day jitters.

I made it to and through my first day of class wearing a big, gauze pad taped to my leg and a slightly-higher than recommended dose of ibuprofen in my system.  I had the pleasure of scrubbing the wounds when I got home. But, perhaps, most importantly, I got to do my next first amazing thing – admitting I don’t have all my shit together and maybe I can be okay with that (baby steps).