The voices that we hear

I start the truck and adjust the heat. As I sit waiting for the blower to clear the windshield I check to make sure the trailer lights are working. The darkness is so blackit’s easy to tell that they are, indeed, functioning correctly. Check. I review everything I can think of just to prolong the process. I put the truck in drive, take a deep breath and start to pull out of the driveway. Look left, look right, make a wide swing. I look back and sure enough the trailer is right behind me and didn’t run off the edge into the ditch. Proud of myself so far. Driving down the road, keep checking the mirrors. Adjust left, adjust right. That’s better. Thankful for no traffic yet, it allows me a little freedom on the road. First stop light, brakes seem to be working. Left turn, wide swing. Need to change lanes now – check mirrors, signal right, double check mirrors, lane change. So far so good. Right turn, two more stop lights. I see the entrance signs to the interstate coming up in the distance. The interstate – traffic-lots and lots of traffic. Nine hundred miles to go – oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I veer to the right (oops, no turn signal) and into the abandoned parking lot. I hit the brakes and park. 

First thing that hits is the panic. I feel my heart start racing, like a race car revving its engine. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. Why did I think I could? I should turn around, put my tail between my legs and go home. Admit my defeat, admit I was wrong, give up. The tears well up, and the first one falls. Alone in it’s fall, just like me. Panic moves to the side like a gentlemen and lets despair take a turn. The tears are falling freely now, like a mid-spring rainstorm. The kind that brings buckets of rain in the first few minutes and the windshield washers can seem to keep up with. I feel the weight of them, pushing me down, farther into the dark depths where doubt, despair and darkness reside, the home of the inner voice. It’s scolding me, condescending and informative at the same time. “See you can’t do this, you’re a fraidy cat”, “go back home where you belong”, “you’ve never followed through with anything, just forget it and go back where it’s safe”. I see the wisdom in those words, the sense, the logic. Going back would be smart, safe, and easy, what everybody wants. The tears cease, decision made. “Take the easy way out, listen to reason” says the voice. “You know that’s what we always do.” I start to put the truck in drive, to pull out, headed left, back the way I’d come. 

Suddenly from out of nowhere, I hear another voice. A voice from last night, when I said I was ready to leave in the morning. A voice I’ve only met once. A strong voice, one I barely know. It’s saying “you’ve got this girl”. How can a voice I barely know, one I’ve only met once, be talking to me? I don’t know this voice, it doesn’t know me, surely I shouldn’t listen. I don’t know its intentions, its motivations, its trustworthiness. Turn around, run, hide. Bury your head in the sand. You’ve got this girl. The voices are sparring, going one round, then two, dancing around each other in a tangle of words, throwing punches at each other, waiting for one to give up, the other to prevail. I put my head on the steering wheel, waiting for the match to end. Which one to listen to? Which one is right? One is logical, making sense for safety’s sake. Both physical and mental. It’s the one I’ve always listened to. It’s kept me safe and sheltered, under it’s thumb. Maybe I’m just losing my mind, my sanity finally having lost its patience too. “You’ve got this girl.” Louder, more forceful. I ask myself why this voice is intruding on my peace, my safety. It’s pure craziness to listen to it. 

How did I get here? To this moment where I’m forced to make this decision? The months of darkness and endless nights. Tossing and turning, over and over, waiting for dawn to break to start the routine monotony of another day. The days of staying in bed all day because it was just too much work to get up. Thank goodness for weekends, two days of staying in bed. Not needing to shower, to get dressed, even eat some days. All that time to be safe and secure. Curtains closed so the light doesn’t brighten the somber mood. Pajamas praying for Monday so they could have a break. All the arguments, the nastiness, guilt trips, crying. All the questions, doubts, questioning my thoughts, motives, sanity. Why are you going this? What if you fail? What are you thinking? Not being able to answer them for anyone but myself. Not explaining myself for fear of hurting everyone else. No one understands, only me. How can they? They’ve never been here, in this dark place, alone. Never known the fear, the false hopefulness, the fakeness of reassuring smiles. They’ve never seen the middle of the night tears and painful moans. They’ve never known the dark nights, the dark hospital rooms, the peaks of hope or the valleys of doomed optimism.   

So why should one voice hold any weight? One I have no history with? One who barely knows me? One who doesn’t know my history, my past, my pain? A voice that teases me to leave my safety zone. My security. Everything I’ve ever known. My home, my job, my friends, my family.  A voice that is only one, among so many. A single, solitary voice – “you’ve got this girl”. Why should I listen to that voice? It’s been drilled into my head my entire life that family comes first, don’t be selfish, family is everything. You have a good job, a nice home. A good sense of security and a safe zone. 

This one voice, tempting, teasing, possibly raising false hope. One voice, possibly leading me in the wrong direction. How can one voice, who’s integrity is in doubt, have any hope of making an impression? 

I pull out of the parking lot, turn right. I see the sun coming up on the horizon, it’s no longer dark.