I.
If you happen to frequent this blog
[thank you for your patronage…Hi mom] then it is no surprise to you that I
originally hail from the City of Angels. For the purposes of this post, let us call
it, The Land of Abundant Parking and Sunshine. Perhaps it was a regional quirk
or perhaps it was a bout of good luck before the rules altered, but parallel
parking was not a requirement on my driving test, oh-so-many moons ago. While
we are on the topic, here is my mitzvah
for all aspiring California drivers: I speak from tragic experience when I
implore you not to wear a beautiful light blue turtleneck to take your driver’s
license photograph, which displays a beautiful light blue background, for you
will look like a floating head ten years hence.
As I was saying, after years of
spacious parking lots and eager valet attendants, the mysterious phenomenon
eluded me…. and then I migrated to the east coast. Based on parking space alone,
it’s no wonder that whole Manifest Destiny thing really took off. As my
quarter-laden purse conjures the wistfulness of a reindeer’s jingle bells,
metered parking has become my sanctuary. I have circled blocks, wiped sweaty
palms and walked from sensational distances all to avoid the pressure.
II.
To this
day, recalling the first date I went on after my Supposed-To-Be-Forever person
and I ended puts a knot in my stomach. Each gesture or word spoken was unfairly
compared to his predecessor and I spent half the time mentally framing a very
detailed Pros and Cons document. Miserable seems to be the word I am
looking for here and, in my eyes, nothing was ever going to “click” again.
Pretty depressing realization for a 22 year old, n’est-ce pas? I kept
breathing, so my overly-dramatic death from sadness hypothesis didn’t quite pan
out and as long as I remained above ground I felt I shouldn’t waste the light.
But no matter how many smiles or “it was really nice meeting you(s)” I feigned,
I discovered the fundamental cause of my doldrums was fear. I was afraid misery
would find me all over again, afraid to meet a new family, absorb new childhood
memories or laugh so hard with someone new that I betrayed the memories of the
old someone.
III.
Years later,
while circling the block for a tractor-sized space, The Manfriend asked me why
I had passed up several normal-sized spots directly in front of our destination.
I probably mumbled some nonsensical response to which he replied, “Stop
whining. I am teaching you how to do this and we are not getting out of the car
until you get it.” Now, a lover of metaphors and other literary tools could
spin a beautiful narrative about how “love is a journey, and as long as you
stay in the car, everything will be alright” or “the man who taught you to love
again also taught you to park properly” but I will not go that route. Instead, my
lovely readers, I will say, that fears only seem rational when there is no one
there to tell you otherwise. You can be afraid to let yourself feel something
for someone again and you can even be afraid to tackle the public humiliation of
parking on a crowded, Boston street but my hope for you is that you find
someone who makes you forget those fears existed.
Signed,
Parallel
Parking Goddess.
No comments:
Post a Comment