A Story about Impulsivity

This is a true story. It’s also quite personal. I will tell you about a mistake, and what I learned from it. I will also tell you about some strange things I will leave open to your interpretation. If that sounds interesting, let’s get to it.

Bad Moods and Bad Decisions

I was having a bad day. I know, because I don’t remember thinking about much, and that only happens when I’m trying not to think about something in particular. It was so bad that after I’d gotten a smoothie for my dinner, I determined that I didn’t want to go home. Then, 10 minutes later I found myself driving into my neighborhood. I actually circled around my house and back out to the road, mentally apologizing to my cat, who can hear my car from a quarter mile off and waits by the door.

Then, I had to use my brain long enough to decide where I would go. No where with people, that much I knew. Then I remembered seeing people drive out of the land for sale across the street. I drove over and, sure enough, the gate was open, leading into a shadowy dirt road surrounded by thick forest.

Suddenly, my mood improved. In the space of a heartbeat, I was exploring unknown territory, not a soul to disturb me, not a trouble in mind, nothing but the sandy road and the unseen sights of the forest to keep me company. But my brain wasn’t working, so of course I could dive into the unknown with nothing but a muted sense of pleasure.

After following what I assumed was the outer route for a while, it occurred to me that I didn’t know how big this property was, and it wouldn’t be fun to get lost there. I started looking for an intersection and when I came across one, I turned towards the center, then took another turn to take a route that seemed to be headed right back to the entrance I’d come from.

By now I’d been on the roads long enough to feel the tires slip once or twice, and my anxiety was rising. Thoughts of getting out now overwhelmed the sense of adventure I’d had but minutes before.

Then the road I was on dead-ended in a road going from south to north. On impulse I chose the north route, and regretted it almost instantly. About 200 feet later, I plowed my car into a depression of sand. I was stuck.

Panicked, I reversed hard, but only inched back. I tried again, and gained another inch. I inched and inched, but couldn’t seem to release myself from the pit. I stopped the car and hopped out. To my horror, the front end of my car was distended like it had been subjected to a game of tug of rope between elephants. I immediately began digging sand out from under the front wheels and bumper. It was around this time that I realized that the car I’d thought was a 4-wheel drive and confidently driven in the snow was in fact front-wheel drive. Hence, despite my back wheels resting firmly on solid ground, they were of no use to me.

After thinking, “Oh God, please help me,” I jumped back in my car and resumed inching backwards, ignoring the heat my poor engine was accumulating and the fact that my bumper was being torn off again, and finally managed to reverse out of the hole. Now able to decide my direction, I looked up and definitively affirmed that I wasn’t going to get anywhere with the road in front of me, so I kept backing up, up into the road I’d turned off of and then turned south for the road which seemed much firmer, but I got stuck in the intersection. I was well and truly stuck this time. I hopped out of the car again, panting from anxiety rather than effort.

Where I Give Up

My engine was stuck on the sand again, my front tires helpless to pull me across the surface. I had to bang my front bumper back into place again. I was stuck on property I didn’t belong on with no expectation that anyone else would come around. I had called my mom, but her phone wasn’t working again.

There was a saving grace, which perhaps you’ve already thought of. I was, in fact, walking distance from my house.

So, I kicked off my heels, adjusted my socks, and tromped down the path I’d been trying to take. But a few paces down the path I was thrilled to discover that I was very near the entrance, and I found myself grateful that the other direction had proven impassible. Now, when I roped my mom into dragging me from the sand, neither she nor I were in any danger of getting lost in the rescue attempt.

I scurried across the 4-lane highway, more worried about being caught looking dirty and shoeless than about the speed at which cars drive on this road, but I steeled myself to the shame, bided my time, and crossed without incident.

For reasons you’d understand if you lived there, I had not the slightest concern about bad impressions as I stalked through my neighborhood, nodding in a friendly way to the older gentleman who watched me walk past his sagging trailer. I like to think of them as mini leaning towers of Pisa, a whole collection of them. There’s just as much history here, if anyone cared to learn about it.

My mother has this brilliant ability to be calm when I’m panicked, so she took my arrival, story, and request in stride. I have the curious ability to seem very convincing when my brain shuts down, so I convinced her to walk back over to the car with me, armed with the plan to put the car in neutral and push it past the sandhill on which it was wedged.

We tried it. The car didn’t budge. My mother sent me to run back to the house for the truck while she tried rocking the car out.

I returned to find her far dirtier than I’d been, because she’d discovered the predicament of my engine and had begun a project to dig the underside of my car out. Besides the fact that we couldn’t really reach the most troublesome patch of sand right underneath my engine, we did more to deprive my front wheels of traction than anything else.

Experience is the Best “Most Patient” Teacher

Having tested out all our theories, we finally hooked my car up to her truck with straps and dragged my car from the sand. With the wheels finally on flat and solid ground, I felt relief and shame in equal measure. I’m glad my mother was there. She reminded me to feel gratitude: Gratitude for the provision of a truck, good straps, the proximity of her house, her availability at the time, and most importantly, a painless ending to one day’s adventure.

This is the first and perhaps most important lesson that I get from adventures like these. A reminder of Who is in control, and His care for me, even when I feel the need to make foolish and willful decisions.

The second lesson is also valuable, if hard for someone like me to admit. Most of the time, in self-imposed messes, I only get out with help. You’d think, if I found asking for help so embarrassing, I’d avoid situations like these, but well… Maybe one of these days.

The most distinctive lesson I took away from this particular adventure was this: The next time I go exploring, I should leave my car at the entrance.