Always Check Your Blind Spot

Today I spent nine hours driving my two anxious, nauseous, ten-year old cats to Massachusetts to stay with my mother for two months while we move. ┬áDid I mention I brought my four-year-old (human) assistant with me? Yep, the one who got into a meowing contest with said cats… because that’s calming for them.

Anyhow, I glanced casually at my passenger-side mirror and caught those words that are always there- “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.” How many times have you looked at those words? So many times you probably don’t even see them.

By the time I hit I91 in Connecticut, I was practically delusional from hearing Paw Patrol on repeat and found myself thinking almost exclusively in metaphors. So, I’ll apologize ahead of time for my crazy line of thinking, but bear with me here, because I can guarantee that fifty miles later I eventually hit a point.

Mile 1… Okay, I’m totally kidding.

With this move, I’ve been forced to fall back on the support of so many people. Okay, let’s be real… nearly everything I’ve done, or strived for, or dreamed about, I’ve had to fall back on people’s support. Those objects in our mirror? The ones that are closer than we perceive them? The ones that, for the most part, are propelling us forward? Those are our friends.

We all have them. Some of us may be on a single lane road, with a pair of headlights miles back, and others may have so many friends backing them that their mirrors look like they’re sitting on the beltway in D.C. traffic at 5:00 PM on a Friday.

But there’s one part of your rear-view that mirrors don’t show. Your blind spot. That one spot on either side of your car that is essential, but you forget that it’s there.

We ALL have blind spot friends. Those friends that are so close to us that we forget to check them. Yeah, yeah, I know, newer cars are made with those fun little mirrors that show your blind spot at all times. But humans don’t upgrade that quickly. I’m talking about the friends you take for granted. The ones you assume are there. All the time. Why check?

Often times it takes a violent slamming of the breaks to make you frantically check your blind spot to make sure everything’s all right. Are you safe? It’s those moments that make your adrenaline flow and your heart race, when you change lanes and then swerve because your eyes were open, but not quite wide enough.

Those moments are when your blind spot friends are there.

I propose that we all take a moment to check on those friends. Those friends that are always right next to us, that make us feel comfortable enough and powerful enough to focus on the open road.

Right now, my life isn’t an open road, it’s a traffic jam. And my blind spot friends, hell, they’re offering me a place to live, help with moving, places to store my belongings, child care, and an open ear when I want to spout off my next crazy dream. They’re offering me more than I would have ever seen coming. But did I look?

Do me a favor, please. Take a moment to thank those friends. Check on them before you have to swerve. Nobody’s life is an open three-lane highway all of the time.

Who’s in your blind spot?

Who shouldn’t you overlook?

Whose blind spot are you in?

Most times you never know until somebody swerves. Somebody breaks. Somebody throws you a frantic glance.

I hope that you are closer than you appear.

Because let me tell you, at this point in my life, I am so grateful for the friends that I forget to look at until I need them most.

ALWAYS check your blind spot.


Prepping To Say Goodbye

My life is in a state of turmoil right now.

A state of self-inflicted, it-will-end-up-okay, let-me-constantly-second-guess-myself, turmoil.

The house I am living in, MY HOUSE, will be somebody else’s house in nineteen days.

I have been so excited to buy my new house that I haven’t taken a second to look back at my “old” house.

So listen, 121 Porter Way.

Thank you.

You were my very first adult accomplishment. I bought you when I was 25. I thought I was amazing. And I WAS.

I got engaged when I owned you.

I got married when I owned you.

I brought BOTH of my babies home to you.

And because of that, you are a part of me. You, an inanimate 1,300 square foot object.

Life has a way of reminding us exactly who we are and what we have to show for it. For me, that’s a tiny plot of land and a little house in West Virginia.

Don’t ever discount the little things because someone else has it better, or bigger, or fancier.

This little house has housed so much love, and will continue to do so.

A family will move in here in nineteen days and will fill it with love, albeit a different kind of love. Probably saner, thank God.

Four walls. Two people. One love. Two babies. Countless memories.

Thank you.

While you didn’t do all that for me, you housed it.

Eight years later, I can look back and say that you surpassed my wildest expectations.

I surpassed my wildest expectations. My boys did too.

And you were always the place we came home to.

HOME may never have an address. But if it did, it would be a palindrome. With a 0.29 acre lot. With a cement driveway, and an apple tree.

Thank you for being my twenties. My past. My home. My start.

Thank you for being my beginning.