I am not a car person.
As in know-what’s-going-on-under-the-hood person.
This light has been on in my car for about six weeks now. It came on at some point in all the driving back and forth to see my ill father.
At first I panicked. Driving on a major interstate still four hours from home, my eyes drawn to its insistent glowing.
SOMETHING’S WRONG, SOMETHINGS WRONG, SOMETHING’S WRONG.
You are going to break down on the side of the road and never see your children AGAIN glowing.
Well, nothing went wrong.
And my urgent “got to take it into the shop the next day” become — as long as it’s still running. I’ll keep driving.
Right now I could draw sappy conclusions to how that is with us. Our bodies. Pushing them onward, ignoring all the warning signs because the still function.
We still get the children to school on time. Remember the dentist appointments and soccer games. We’re at our desk by 8:29:30 a.m. and make it to the store every night to buy something for dinner.
The little irritations with our spouse that turn into I can’t live this way emotional chasms. The child who pulls away because that’s what teens do and then they start staying out later and later and you sleep with the phone resting by your ear all night long.
No. I won’t type those things because that is obviously tired and cliched writing.
Even though I think it.
Only when I’m feeling tired and cliched, I guess.
Do you ever ignore, those bitty warning lights?