Shifting Sands

I’ve been in Jamestown, Rhode Island for the last few days, trying to make sense of my memoir’s messy middle, so this post is going to be mushier than most.

I’ve never been to Jamestown — I’ve only been to the state a handful of times — and honestly, for some reason I’ve always associated Rhode Island with my home state of New Jersey, which up until the recent past, made me break out into hives as soon as I crossed the state line.

Good reason to stay away, I think. But my recent trip to Jersey — along with actually exploring the two houses where I grew up — did something to me. Not only did I not break out in hives when I pulled onto the Garden State Parkway, but I laughed when I saw who the first rest area had been named after.

That was my first clue that my trip back to my childhood home was going to be different…that I was different. And this week, I realize that this difference has spilled over into other parts of my life.

Oh, I fully realize that spending a number of years trying to excavate long-buried memories via writing and therapy has changed me to some extent. [I think] I no longer fly off the handle as quickly as before, and my blood pressure doesn’t instantly ratchet up if I have a free moment and no idea how to fill it.

But sometimes you have to take your new fledgling self out for a test drive in the real world…to see how the sands have shifted, so to speak.

[Re: the opening video: I’ve always liked this intro to the long-running soap opera Days of Our Lives — it was my mother’s favorite — and the kinda-spooky music planted the seed in my five-year-old gray matter to appreciate the mystery. Shifting Sands, Sands Through the Hourglass…in my book, same difference.]

It’s been gray and cold all week here, and a Nor’easter hit on Thursday, with 40 mph winds and up to three inches of rain. Given these conditions, I would have normally holed up by myself, digging inward even more, but instead I braved roads and bridges while the rain came down sideways and made it to Tiverton to hit the shops and have lunch with a couple of friends who live about a half hour away.

A year ago, I would have white-knuckled it the whole way and spent most of the time with my friends worrying about the drive back. But that wasn’t the case. The drive was easy. After I hit a couple of thrift shops, I caught up with my friends over lunch, splashed through puddles, and visited the shops that were open, along with The Yellow House, a recently-opened bookshop.

Then I drove back. In just a few hours, the storm had ratcheted up and the undrained puddles on the highway doubled in size, along with the potholes. But I got back with no problem.

And no tension.

I’ve always carried my mother’s borderline agoraphobia and nervousness about driving with me. But this time neither one surfaced. These sands have shifted.

I think it’s because after spending years turning over rocks and looking directly at the grubs and growths that were hidden there, they’re no longer the scary monster under the bed that I can’t bring myself to look at. Instead, these things that once caused me to knee-jerk react with fear-before-the-fact now are not even worth a second, cursory glance.

At one time, this would have been totally beyond my comprehension. But now, it’s somehow wormed its way into my cells, and it’s here to stay…

I think.

This Week’s Takeaway: If you’ve recently experienced a shift in your life — whether physical or emotional — you may think that it only affects one part of your life, but as humans, we’re complex creatures, and change tends to spill over the borders of our cytoplasm, making everything else shift as well. If you’ve recently [or not-so-recently] met a small challenge head-on, it’s worth a shot to take it out for a test drive in another part of your life where you’ve also faced difficulty. Try it. Do you notice that you’re calmer/happier/less stressed than before? And are you surprised to see this?

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