Finding which direction to take

I was on a country road, somewhere up in bumfuck Idaho. Winter was coming. I had left behind my life, left my profession and gotten rid of almost everything I owned. I was 40 years old and starting over. My little car was stuffed with camping gear, food and clothing. I vividly recall being completely alone at a T-intersection. Nothing for as far as the eye could see. I knew I would have to decide to either head toward Washington or the Midwest… winter was coming…winter was coming… I needed to find a short-term lease to wait out winter and continue my journey into the unknown in Spring.

The problem was, I couldn’t decide which way to go. I was tempted by the familiar, I’d been to Washington a handful of times, but I knew this was a pivotal decision despite not knowing WHY. I was making a statement to the universe, to the ‘ me” that was tiny and locked away deep inside. The ‘ me’ inside that wanted to take over and stop the current me from killing herself. I was flinging myself out there and trusting that life would catch me. I was determined to forge a new path and meet my future self despite being clueless. All I could do was listen to the silence instead of my noisy brain. It would guide me.

I was a chicken shit. I was having body-quaking panic attacks on a daily basis. My vision was blurred by internal distress, in hindsight, I truly don’t know what got me through any of it. I turned left. Scaredy cat. Wimp. I drove a quarter of a mile. Screw that, I’m turning around! DO IT. BE BRAVE. BE STRONG, HEAD INTO THE UNKNOWN. I turned around. Back at the T-intersection without slowing down, I whizzed eastward with a feigned confidence. I made it a quarter mile and heard a whimper of fear pounding inside my head. I turned the car around. I honestly don’t know how many times I went back and forth before feeling utterly exhausted and insane. Even though I was alone, with not a single person out there to laugh at my vehicular ping-ponging, I still felt like a moron. I was embarrassed, cringing at how difficult it felt to go toward the unknown. I finally stopped the insanity and headed east, where I spent several weeks at a campsite, trying to build up the courage to continue onward. I felt like an animal that just needed a safe place to burrow and hide. I stayed there until the frosty autumn nights signaled it was time to finish migrating toward the Midwest. I had made a decision. Nothing felt right, but it was too late to turn back now.

Originally published at https://nooneway.substack.com.