looking forward, but thinking about my rear

When I bought Vanta C, I promptly enrolled in a DIY auto maintenance and repair class at the local community college. It was the perfect class for someone like me, who was afraid to reach her hands down the throat of her growling van to check the transmission fluid. The class started with the basics, how a car works, identifying major components of the internal combustion engine, and performing oil and filter changes. The class didn't result in my becoming a do-it-yourself auto mechanic, but I did learn basic vocabulary and anatomy, and I graduated with less intimidation and fear. Now I throw around words like "gravy", "aftermarket", and "drivetrain" while getting my oil changed, and I get dirty at gas stations checking fluid levels like a pro.

Today I crawled under my van to have a look at the rear axle. It's been leaking fluid for some time now, and I know I should be checking the level regularly, but it requires crawling under the van and removing a plug, so it has slipped by the wayside of my regular fluid checks. Today I woke up inspired to figure it out, and began by Googling "check rear differential fluid". Between the step by step instructions on the web and the ones in the Chilton book I have, I figured I could TOTALLY do this myself. So I got my gloves on, grabbed a shop rag, and scooted my darling little ass under the beast Vanta C. I found the plug, stopped in my tracks, and my brain took over. What if I unscrew this plug and the fluid gushes out all over the place? What if this is actually the drain plug? But no, it couldn't be, because it's on the side, not the bottom, but what if it is? Then I'll have a big mess on my hands.

So I stared at the plug. This must be the right plug, but I now feel like a chickenshit. So I decided to ignore the differential fluid and focus on breakfast (fried egg sandwich and tea).

Being on the Vantasy means uncertainty, and I am drowning in a broth of it. It's a nonstop barrage of choices, from the teeny-tiny to the mega. I'm standing in a malfunctioning batting cage, swinging as fast as I can, and the decisions keep flying at my head faster and faster. Think about how many choices you make in a day, whether or not to hit snooze, what to wear, coffee or tea, brush your teeth first or put deodorant on first, the red scarf, yes, the red scarf... The average person makes hundreds of choices before noon. But imagine how many more choices are involved when your house moves each day, when there is no forgone conclusion that work starts at 9:00am. Each day, I ask myself when I should leave, where I should go. At first it was fun, but now that the novelty has worn off, I'm suddenly unable to decide what's next. Don't get me wrong, I love being in control of my life, but it's almost like there are too many possibilities. I have more freedom than I know what to do with. Sometimes a little restriction can be helpful, acting as a guide, like the barrel of a gun guiding a bullet toward a target. Without the barrel, the bullet would just fly off in any old direction and we could have another Cheney hunting mishap on our hands.

I've been really stupid about making decisions the last few weeks. I wake up and decide to stay, then a few hours later think that maybe I need to go. I decide to head south to Baltimore, but then on the way to Baltimore end up stopping in Harrisburg and deciding to spend the night there, and then while I'm there I decide not to go to Baltimore at all but instead to visit my cousin in Philly, second guessing my choice all the while. So, I've come to this point wherein I agonize over these decisions because none appear better than any other, and before I know it I'm a big ol' stresscase and things are much more complicated than they needed to be.



Yesterday I was tumbling into a downward spiral of crazy head over my choices, so I called Cecilia. There's so much to say about her that she's going to get her own post, so for now I'll just mention that her advice weighs heavily in my thoughts and decisions. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that certainty is an illusion. Just before I left for my Vantasy, someone told me, "You picked the wrong time for a road trip; gas is going to kill you." Meaning that I could have maybe made a better choice about when to leave. Turns out this was the perfect time to take this trip, as now I'm paying $1.78 a gallon. What I mean is: I can make a decision to drive south, and then a bridge could be out, forcing me to head east. I can make a decision to pull the plug and check my differential fluid, but I have no say in whether the fluid will shoot out all over my face. I can decide to start a relationship, or end a relationship, but I have little control over who I love or who loves me.

We're raised to be aware of the consequences of our actions, which I think is good. But letting go of the constant need to be in control of outcomes is even better. Choices don't need to weigh as much as I allow them to. I've been feeding all my choices Big Macs, Cokes, and cans of Crisco with all this agonizing I've been doing. I need to let them starve, survival of the fittest, I say. I need to sit back and ride the coattails of this journey and give up trying to control it. And I'm going to start by throwing caution to the wind and checking that rear differential fluid!