Are We There Yet?
if life is a highway and god is a DJ, bring your iPOD shuffle (enjoy my first narrated article!)
Are we there yet?
Did any child really ask that question on long drives?
Call me a conspiracy theorist, but are we there yet only comes from a kids mouth when it’s scripted. This is an existential adult question. Kids don’t care, they trust someone has the wheel. They know eventually we’ll arrive.
Remember when you were only allowed to sit in the back seat and the road seemed so far away? From that vantage point there was no way to see what was out there. No way to see the next turn before you felt it in your body.
We took a lot of road trips when I was younger. Every month actually, my parents and I would pile into our old Buick LeSabre, with blankets, food, CDs, books. My mom would recline the passenger seat or lie down across the long bench in the back, falling asleep the moment we’d hit the road. As a family, we were always running 1 to 2 hours late. I’m not even exaggerating when I say that.
These trips started in West LA and slowly wound through Los Angeles County, up Pacific Coast Highway until we made it all the way to Oxnard. I spent a lot of time reading in the car, consciously defying the laws of motion sickness. My dad would take the curves of the road with care, but PCH is PCH. It was always a Sunday and sometimes we’d pass families unpacking boogie boards and slapping on sunscreen by the road. They were headed down to the water, but we still had a long way to go.
After an hour or so, we’d pull into the familiar parking lot with a certain amount of shame, anxiety and lots of questions. How late were we? Should we wake up mama? Can I go to the bathroom?
Sometimes we’d leave my mom to sleep a few more winks and I’d run in with my dad, greeting Meredith at the door before briskly walking down familiar hallways until I reached the large beige bathroom. I’d give myself a quick moment alone, but these days weren’t about me. I was there to support my mom. The visits to her chronic pain doctor were usually the worst day of the month: a predictable confirmation that she was still sick and there was nothing we could do about it.
Sometimes I’d help Meredith organize binders in the office, other times I’d sit and listen to the doctor explain a new medication that might help dull my mom’s pain. Maybe it was methadone, maybe it was oxycontin. We’d walk out with prescriptions for fentanyl patches meant to stick on your skin (eventually my mom found sucking out the clear goop more efficient). We’d have tester boxes of Actiq lollipops that smelled like artificial raspberry or muscle relaxants that would help her sleep while blurring the memories of the night before.
The doctor’s office was in an old complex of stores, like a strip mall but more rustic. Think functional pioneer vibes. Most businesses were closed on Sunday, but sometimes we’d make it in time to get a sub sandwich at Clairo’s Italian Deli or walk through the isles of a dusty, yet bountiful, fabric store. We’d buy a couple yards of floral textiles, with dreams of homemade dresses and shorts.
Then we’d pile back in the car and I’d hold my breath for the drive home. Sometimes the perpetual reality of chronic pain would hit. Sometimes we’d stop at a mall or grab a basket of calamari and fries at Neptunes Net. It was often a bit of both. We’d get Carls Jr. but my mom would break down in the parking lot, begging for us to end her life.
I’d stare out the window and wait for my mom to fall asleep. Wait for the medication to wipe the night away.
Are we there yet?
I grew up subconsciously believing that death was the aspiration. To this day I view death as a welcome mystery, but I know it’s not the only option.
I’m lucky to be here, for now.
Nowadays I don’t actually care if we’re there.
I just want to know what there really is.
So where is there?
Some will say, it’s the journey, of course! But you don’t go on a journey without a destination. No great odyssey starts with the hero saying, okay I guess I’ll just head out! Might fight some sea monsters, see you later babe!
How did all these great adventurers do it?
Thinking ahead—in a grounded, achievable way—is very new to me. When you’re focused solely on survival and the survival of your family, it’s impossible. I know I’m not alone. If you’re not careful, today’s discourse will have you operating in a forever flight or flight response.
Are we there yet?
Sometimes fear of failure prevents us from creating a there. Fear will be so sneaky, we won’t even feel weird about derailing all that we can be. We’ll just think we’re being logical. We won’t call it what it really is: denying the world your light. We think we’re just waiting a little while longer to offer it.
I’ve done this myself, countless times. Only yesterday did it hit me: so many under qualified people just do whatever they want. They assume certain things are supposed to happen and they forge ahead with that expectation. It doesn’t always pan out for them, but I dare say many of us who come baring our hearts and have spent years in practice could use a little bit of that blind self confidence.
Am I rambling? Are we there yet?
The best part is, There can always change. Its beauty is in its fluidity. There cannot be clutched too tightly. It’s a partner, not a subject.
Are we there yet?
Perhaps this time There is just the end of this newsletter. So nice to be able to call to the backseat, above the din of the staticky radio - Yes! Let’s get out, we’re here.
xx
James
p.s.
I miss our communal celebration of the transcendent present, so I’ve brought back Moments for Now. This time as an instagram.
DM your submissions to @momentsfornow