People, Politics & Possibility: What my Car Breaking Down Taught me
People
On the Friday that Roe V. Wade overturned, I was on a road trip to DC to visit my brother. I had just driven through the Blueridge Mountains, when my car turned into a raving discotheque of flashing check sensor lights. A week prior to embarking on this journey, I had my Subaru serviced and had replaced the wheel bearings. The repair person had given me an all clear for the drive to DC. He was wrong. With lights flashing, I pulled into a gas station and made a few calls. Mark, a friendly technician on the other side of the line, walked me through how to check my oil, and what each sensor meant. “As long as the ‘AT oil temp’ light is not flashing, you should be safe to keep driving. But if that light comes back on, stop cause you’re gonna wreck your transmission.”
It was like a foreign language to me, but clear enough. I started the car up again in the parking lot and the check engine light was on, but not the AT oil temp light. I was all clear to carry on. As I went to merge onto the highway, the car started to slip, it wasn’t accelerating, and the infamous AT oil temp light flashed on in a tempo reminiscent of a fire alarm. I creeped along the highway to the next possible exit, pulling into what seemed to be a corporate building construction site. There was absolutely no one around, just farmland, and a line of freshly planted trees, with a backdrop of mountains in the distance.
I called three different repair shops, and all said the same thing: it was likely an issue with a valve in the transmission. Don’t drive. At this point I was halfway between home and my destination, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I called my auto insurance for a tow and got an automated text that it would likely be about 2-3 hours. It was already afternoon and most of the repair shops closed early on a Friday. The prospects for getting to DC were looking bleak. I called the tow truck number to explain in further detail the obscure location where I was parked.
“Can your car still drive, or does it need to be pulled up on a flat bed?” the driver asked in a thick southern drawl.
“It can drive, just not far.”
“Great I am two exits up with a truck and a trailer and can tow you. Be there in 15.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
I ate my packed lunch under the shade of a tree and waited for my ride. True to his word, and a bit early, an older stout gentleman with a warm face arrived. He loaded my car onto the trailer. We chatted the entire hour drive and he shared with me his stories of navigating relationships, severe motorcycle accidents, the peaks and valleys of trauma that punctuate a life of resilience. We talked about synchronicities marking his own life, and how he cares for others. We shed tears over the recent passing of his beloved dog. Nothing cuts through the heart like losing an animal that showed unconditional love. The time passed quickly in conversation, and when it was over a fullness and familiarity of friendly connection settled into the space between us as he drove away.
I arrived at the Subaru dealer at 4pm, when it closed at 5:30pm. The service department said it was unlikely they could get the job done today before closing, and the technician on staff over the weekend was not going to be able to repair the broken valve responsible for the car malfunction. They gave me a taste of hope in letting me know one of their fastest technicians was just about to leave for the weekend, and they could see if he was willing to work on the car. The technician spoke in a thick Eastern European accent and was tattooed up his arm with prayer hands. I threw a ‘Hail Mary’ begging him to see what he could do. He said, “no promises,” but got straight to work. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from the garage in casual clothes and gave two thumbs up. I couldn’t believe it. The service team clapped for him. When he finished working on the car, I asked if I could hug him, and he gave me a big embrace, understanding that I would have been stranded in Virginia for the weekend without his help. It seemed to be a miracle that I was able to drive out of the dealership with a fully functioning car by 5pm, on my way continuing north to DC. You never want your car to break down on the side of the road, but when it does, you hope that you are met with kind, warm-hearted people willing to help.
Politics
Upon arriving in DC, I learned about the overturning of Roe v. Wade. There was a man protesting on a bridge outside of my brother’s apartment and we watched into the night as police circled below like sharks in the water. The man eventually came down. I wanted to go to the Supreme Court to protest, but my family was concerned things could escalate into violence. It is sad to live in a society where we are afraid to express how we are feeling. As I processed my grief over the state of the world, I was still living in the wake of a wildly synchronistic turn of events from being stranded on the side of the road to making it to DC, that had left me with an enormous sense of hope about humanity and the kindness of strangers.
In his book “The Lion Trackers Guide to Life,” Boyd Varty describes an encounter with Martha Beck, in which he realized that the restoration of the planet was rooted in the shift in human consciousness that starts at an individual level. In other words, people help people. Last week so many of my clients reached out floundering, feeling a deep betrayal from the government. The overturning of Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court curtailing what the EPA can do to fight climate change, is disheartening. Trauma is born from a lack of choice and agency, and when laws and regulations are passed that eliminate a freedom or a choice, it can be deeply unsettling.
My undergraduate research centered around women who conceive from rape and the nuance of identities of sex working mothers. The essence is this: to choose to have a child, and the partner with whom to do so, is a luxury that many don’t get. There are brutal and dark ways through which a woman can find a womb heavy, and choice is crucial to healing. I have been privileged to bear witness to underground movements when things have not been legal. Women can help women. Men can help women. And we can take action to incite change, even if it is pushed underground for now.
Possibility
In the wake of the recent rulings, I have been encouraging my clients to find their zone of excellence to contribute and to reflect on what their deep calling is. What piece of the puzzle can they participate in? We each have a part to play but no one of us can do it alone. Lingering in the echo chamber of social media leaves people spun out in stagnation, feeling hopeless and without a clear direction forward. Reclaiming agency and feeling that there is something that can be done is a way to reclaim power. Byron Katie says, “When we stop opposing reality, action becomes simple, fluid, kind, and fearless.” When we stop focusing on calling out what is wrong, and do something to act, life becomes easier. I invited clients to think about what they wanted to offer to the world and how they could take action to help.
How can we reorganize the conversation away from a reaction and more towards mindful and intentional action? Can you donate, can you lend an open ear, can you escort people from their cars to clinics, can you spread information and resources? I believe that carving out a better world for ourselves and our children begins with carving out a better inner landscape. Protecting our mental and emotional wellbeing is a crucial component in trying to help others, otherwise we are left bitter and burnt out. I believe that in the face of uncertainty and the fear of the unknown, we must reclaim choice as much as possible. To choose to be kind, to choose to see people, and to choose to care for ourselves are all important.
In his TED talk, Boyd Varty recalls the way Nelson Mandela, while imprisoned during apartheid in South Africa, focused on creating within himself the very thing he was hoping for in his country. He created the peace within, that he hoped would externalize around him, and explored where individual wellbeing is intricately tied to the wellbeing and humanity of others. Varty describes this as “an animated empathetic action in every moment.”
Sometimes we are the vessel to offer goodness and grace to others, and sometimes we are on the receiving end of it. After my brush up with a broken-down Subaru, and the support of kind strangers, the journey to DC felt important and timely. It invited me to turn focus not just on the destination, but to hold space for the process of change, and the unfolding of our individual and collective lives. I believe advocacy starts in the immediacy of how we treat ourselves and the people we encounter. I was graced by the kindness of strangers. I was held tenderly in uncertainty. I believe that collectively the way through this is to show up, help others who are right in front of you, learn more, vote well, and most of all be kind to yourself and others.
