It was to be my last day on this earth—or so I believed just
a few days ago. Really. I was riding the winding, hairpin-turn-filled
precipitous narrow roads of Corsica, part of a lovely relaxing vacation. Only I
was hardly relaxed.
Rather, I honestly feared that this would be my last car
ride, my last day of absorbing the spectacular beauty of nature, the last
opportunity to tell my family I love them all. Traumatized and almost teary I
saw no way out. And I’m not exaggerating. Once you turn onto this two-way road
wide enough for one Smart car at best, there is no making a U-turn and shifting
directions. We had decided to visit this much raved about, difficult to access
beach, a killer descent from mountain road to sea. There were no guard rails to
protect us as we clung to each cliff edge. How
could they allow me to travel on this?, I thought to myself.
After a tense stay at this beautiful beach (yes, we made it
down), I could only think about how I could survive the return back up. My
husband was confident and self-assured—he would be on the inside while I’d
watch the wheels teeter on the irregular tattered road’s edge, which dropped
down to the sea. Closing my eyes might be the only option—yet having them open
made me feel like I could help—like I may control the situation. But I
compromised—open, closed, open, closed, all the while trying to breath. It was
an isometric workout of sorts—abdominal muscles tightening at every turn, right
quadriceps struggling to break my fall as we neared the edge at every turn. Not a very religious person, I found
myself silently singing prayers, statements of faith, in hope that I’d make it.
And obviously I did. And would you believe I saw a link between
my experience and your eating struggles?
My thoughts?
Why do we have to wait until we’re at the end of our rope to
appreciate what we have and what our lives might be?
Do we need to have a traumatic wake-up call for us to move
to action—for self-care, to treat ourselves better, for recovery, to make a
difference in the lives of those around us?
Must we live life teetering on the edge?
Can’t we entrust our care in the hands of those who can
drive us to safety, when we are at a loss to take the wheel ourselves?
Yes, this was the scariest ride of my life—but I realize
that lots of cars make it down—and back up—to the top again. Apparently people
get through it—and do so by choice, even if they do know what awaits them. Yes,
people, like you and me, survive what we never dreamed we could get through.
Sunday night begins the Jewish New Year, Rosh Ha Shana, a
contemplative time when we reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going; a
time to acknowledge that while not all is under our control, what we do in this
world can make a difference. The theme is life and death, but it is a holiday
filled with hope for what the upcoming year may bring.
So while I’m in my appreciative mode, still reeling from
this trip, in my pre-Rosh Ha Shana spirit, let me thank you dear readers, for
reading, for commenting, for teaching me what I needed to learn at times.
Thanks for giving me a place to voice my own concerns and for simply listening—and
please accept my apology if I have misunderstood you or responded inappropriately.
And regardless of your religion, thanks for taking my words so seriously and
hopefully, moving to action to make the coming year a better one.
Great post. Very, very true and something I think about and struggle with quite a lot.
ReplyDeleteL'shana tova, Lori. May we all have a sweet, happy, healthy New Year!
I had the same terrifying experience on Route 66 in AZ. I thought I was going to DIE going up that narrow, very windy, mountain road, with the cliff right off to my right. I had sweaty paws (hands and feet).
ReplyDeletethis post resonates with me a little too much (shana tova btw), I am contemplating treatment for the third time and realizing I just can't do it on my own (AGAIN), feel shame and not deserving, but also realizing that I am the only one who can make the decision to better my life...so great post and a good prompting [for me]. Thanks, love this blog!
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