Don’t you hate it when you abuse something that you love?
Can there be a worse feeling after a fight with a loved one? Hurting that which we love plunges a sharp knife deep into the heart.
This morning, I knew that I had to be “together”. The news about an upcoming blizzard hitting Montreal meant that I would have to leave my apartment early. Would I be stuck in a snowbank? Would there be a couple of inches of hard-to-break ice on my windshield?
With a new boss in the office, someone so organized that he would probably leave his West Island home hours early to avoid the congestion that a storm usually brings on his morning commute to Montreal, I had to make sure that I also arrived on, or preferably, a little earlier, than my 9:00 am starting time.
Before my new boss came on the scene, since I live so close to work, I often dawdled a little bit too much in the kitchen and ended up five or ten minutes late at work, which didn’t bother me too much since I had nothing to do for the next seven hours anyway.
No matter how early I wake up, at 5:30 am or 6:00 am, I am usually rushing like a madman at 8:45 am to get to work on time. (I have a 60-90 minute meditation program that I follow religiously.)
But today, after God knows how many hours of sleep last night (in a good way; was it ten hours? 11?) I was very prepared to leave early to shovel myself out of my spot.
So, meditated, breakfasted, lunch-prepared and snug in my winter coat over two light sweaters, I walked out of my apartment building at 8:35 am to see the damage.
There was my car, not looking too bad, although there was a pile of snow right behind the rear wheels, where the guy who cleaned the driveway of the apartment building across the street had heaped it.
But the way out from the front didn’t look too bad; I just might be able to muscle my way out with my lovely front-wheel-drive Mazda 3.
After clearing away the snow from all around – while mulling over the fact that in Toronto you can get a hefty fine for driving with a lot of snow still on the hood of the car – I hopped in and started rocking my way out of the spot.
A little forward – some resistance. A little backward. Forward again.
And then I saw it – I had left my parking brake on!
I take good care of my car. This second-hand 2007 Mazda 3 has had its oil changed at all the right times, brought into the dealership in Cowansville at all the right mileage checkups for deeper inspections, and now I had ruined it in the one dull moment I had all morning, by trying to ram myself out of a snowbank with its parking brake on.
You know, those who philosophically say that “Shit happens” are usually saying it from the outside of the “happening”, looking in, from the point of view of someone who may have experienced “It” but certainly isn’t in “It” right at this awful moment. The “wisdom” comes later when the “It” has subsided. But I’ve noticed that when you are in the middle of “It”, that there is rarely much silent mental perspective that goes, “Oh, yeah, here we are in the middle of (sh)It. No problem! Let’s just watch it flow by…”
Now, besides worrying that my car has a damaged parking brake, something more vital since my car’s transmission is standard, I’m also going through a lot of “It” with my teeth, a part of me that I don’t abuse too badly but is apparently a channel of bad karma for me.
Root canals, getting teeth pulled out and replaced with an implant and crown, now another tooth where a small bit of enamel recently broke off with possibly more root canal to come.
I look forward to the calm, cool perspective when I can say quite placidly and equably, “Oh, that, sure, don’t worry, It happens!”