The Northward Contrail

The things yet undone

I've done a lot of cool things in my life, and I've had a lot of fulfillment.  But there are some things in this life I haven't done, and I'd still love to do them.  This isn't the really big stuff -- I haven't ruled out flying in space, for instance, but I know it's kind of a tall order -- but, rather, things that if I threw some time and money at them, I could reasonably accomplish. 

I'm not sure if I'll ever get all of these done, but I do like the idea of having goals yet unmet.  It gives me something to shoot for.  (To paraphrase the lovely words of Scott Crossfield, I like the idea of always having another dawn.)

In no particular order:

• I'd love to master a foreign language.  For some reason, I've wanted for a long time to learn Russian.  I think it's because of my Cold War fascination.
• I'd also love to learn how to read music.  And learn how to play at least one musical instrument, too.
• I'd love to take courses in driving a race car.  At Oshkosh a few years back, I talked with one of the instructors from the Skip Barber school, and that really did me no good.  I'm not talking about one of the one-day skills courses, either; I'm talking about a full-blown racing course.  Of course, there's no way I'd become a professional racer (I'm too aware of my own limitations for that; maybe, at best, I'd be the third-string driver on a GT team at a Rolex Series race), but it's something I would love to do.
• I'd love to have a couple days at one of the major broadcasting repositories -- say, for instance, the Paley Center -- so I could finally view a lot of historic recordings that aren't commonly seen.
• I still have to visit New Zealand.  (This isn't a matter of "if," but "when."  This is because promises have been made to third parties.)
• I'd love to write, shoot, direct and edit an original documentary.  I had a hand in one a few years ago, but my students did most of the work and the subject, though intriguing, wasn't of my choosing.  This time, I'd do the choosing, and all the work, and retain the ownership. 
• For a long time, I've thought it would be a hoot to travel the entire length of U.S. 1, north to south.  It used to be the major East Coast artery, but that function's been taken over by I-95.  I'd love to see what's become of the old road.  (This is similar to how some folks travel the old route of Route 66.)
• I'd love to spend several days in Washington, D.C., seeing things at my own pace, not on a tour or anything, but just going to these locations I've read about, places I traveled to in my youth as I read biographies and histories.  I've been to the nation's capitol (and been in the Capitol itself, on a rather amazing self-guided tour with a friend), but I've never had enough time when I was there.  
• It also occurs to me that I should probably ride a horse at least once in my lifetime.  I don't believe I ever have.  I like horses well enough, but I haven't had occasion to spend time around them.  Still, maybe it's the latent Teddy Roosevelt (or Liz Halliday) in me that says it would be a bully idea to ride a horse at least once in my life.

Awareness

By now you've probably seen this story, or some variant of it.  Granted, you'd think a beach would be a safe place to run while listening to your iPod, but then something like this happens that's so bizarre.  It reminds you that no place, really, is safe.

I like music, and I have an iPod that I enjoy.  If we lived on a beach, I'd probably run on the beach while listening to mine.  But I'm also aware of how it takes me out of the world when I'm listening to it.  It's easy to get distracted when you have music pumping into your ears, and I have a fear that if I'm listening to something while I'm in an environment I don't control, I will miss something that will, at the least, embarrass me and, at worst, kill me.  That's why I don't like to wear it when I'm outside doing most things.  I would love, for instance, to listen to some music when I'm out running.  But I also know that on our little dirt road, there's sometimes traffic, and that sometimes they fly down through there, too.  My ears are my best friends when I'm out running.  I can hear traffic coming, and know to get out of the way.  I'd love to listen to it while I'm out, but it's not the prudent thing to do where I do it. 

What I can't get over are the antics of some of the kids these days.  You see many of them walking around constantly listening to their iPods or texting away.  Which wouldn't be so bad, but they're wandering through busy parking lots doing this stuff, not paying attention to what they're doing.  It's a dangerous environment, and I have nightmares of backing over some distracted kid who crosses into my path at the last second. They're unaware of the danger in which they're placing themselves.

It's one thing when you're in a relatively controlled environment, like your home or yard or even a beach (and although the guy got killed on a beach while listening to music, and while he may have been able to save himself if he hadn't had the earbuds in, it's such a random and unlikely event that you really can't blame the guy.  It's one of those "the last little piece of Skylab falls down out of nowhere and whacks you" deals that just comes).  But out in a place where you know there could be danger...well, it bothers me.

The candle burns away

The semester's in its last little segment, and to be honest I'm thankful.  Until Spring Break, I didn't realize just how hard I've been pushing myself this semester.  But after a week off, free from stress, I'm now starting to think I'm taking my daily routine to an unhealthy extreme.

Probably the biggest problem has been a lack of sleep.  Hubby's new job has a later start time, which means he often gets home about 9 pm.  He wants time to talk when we get home, the normal decompression stuff you do at the end of the day, and that's the only time I really get to spend with him during the week.  This, of course, means I get 45 minutes to an hour with him each night, because I have to get to sleep.  Because I'm up each morning at 4:15. 

Why so early?  It gives me time to get some things done.  I need quiet time in the morning, time to not be around anyone else.  Remember, I'm not a social animal in the morning.  The quiet time alone gives me time to eat, have a cup of coffee, and get the morning's computer tasks done.  It sounds like a weird concept, but it gives me time to make sure I'm good to go for the day.  I leave home early so I can beat the traffic, and getting in the office early means I have time to prepare for the day's work.  I can catch up on anything that's happened or that still needs doing.  I can stay ahead of things, and since I get in before the students start to circulate, it means it's less likely I'll be interrupted while I'm trying to get them done.  It also lets me get my game face on and pump myself up for the day, so that when my first class starts, I can be what I need to be for them.

All this is well and good, but it means by the time I'm done for the day, I'm blitzed.  Three days a week, I've taught four classes.  Two days a week, it's one class.  One of those two days, there's a student I have to wait around for.  This means I pull a lot of long days.  Add in at least two or three days a month I have to sit in meetings or get picked for other tasks, and you see where this is going.

Lately I will come home, change out of my work clothes (it's remarkable how, as a semester grinds on, you come to really seriously loathe them) into something more comfortable, and I'll just sit and do next to nothing.  Maybe I'll catch up on some things on the DVR.  Sometimes I really want to take a nap, but that's a bad idea because, from experience, a nap just throws my sleep rhythms off wholesale.  (Especially one as late in the afternoon as I get home.)

I don't want to say this has been a bad semester.  So many things have changed, and for the better.  I have found that the tasks I have don't cause me the stress they used to.  On the other hand, I've put myself into a daily routine that does cause stress.  The challenge for next year will be to find a way to de-stress my daily schedule, just as I've de-stressed my daily tasks.

On anticipation

The last couple weeks, I've been thinking about the big events in my life.  There have been quite a few.  Some of them are big, obvious ones: graduations, milestone birthdays that bring new privileges, first job, so on.  Others are more deeply personal.  Almost all have come with an amount of anticipation.  Some really built up, and I got excited and even a little impatient for them to come. 

Then, the big event happens.  And, often, you find yourself reacting one of two ways.  One is some variant of "Is that all there is?"  Or, "Well, it's all over.  What next?" accompanied by a sort of emptiness.

There's a strange sweetness in anticipation (or, sometimes, a rich, tomatoey goodness).  You're waiting for something.  If you're smart about it, you're aware that disappointment could come into play, but most of your mind is on the good stuff that's likely to happen.  You don't have it yet, though.  So the fantasies and dreams are still alive.  There's no reality there to it yet.  Why, anything could happen!  Since it hasn't happened, it could potentially be the greatest thing ever!  You have these pictures in your mind of how it's going to be, the fun you'll have, the things you'll feel and do. 

And then, it really happens.  The dreams give way to reality, and you find that what you get often has its little surprises.  I remember, for instance, the night of my high school graduation.  It was this day I'd worked towards for 12 years...and there it was.  It wasn't necessarily this great, powerful moment.  It was me, sweltering in the same cheap, tacky souvenir gown everyone else was wearing, in a huge auditorium during an early June heat wave.  And then riding back home with my parents.  Big deal.  It sure wasn't the way I'd imagined it.

The most compelling stories are of people who have struggled to make it: the underdogs, the people seeking love, the budding romances that are blocked by circumstance.  You feel for them, you pull for them, and there's a sweet ache that goes with how they make you feel.  And then, one day, it all pays off, and there's no more struggle and ache.  It's payoff.  Which, on one hand, is nice.  But, on the other hand, it means that there are no more "what ifs" to think about.  Dreams give way to the gritty realities of life, and suddenly you're thinking about all the things that 99% of the rest of the world are thinking about.  The hunger is satisfied.  You're part of the establishment, at least in that regard.  What next? 

Oddly enough, some of the most wonderful moments in my life have come without anticipation.  They just happened.  My very first hour of flight instruction, for instance, was done as an absolute surprise by a friend of mine.  I think that's part of why that memory is so sweet.  There was no buildup to it.  It came out of the blue.  Same deal with when I fell in love for good: it just happened, in one of those fluky ways life throws at you, and it was that much better.  The moment found me, as often occurs.  And then it was on to other things, few of which had the same significance.

It's weird.  I remember how I was pre-tenure.  I was hungry.  I was uncertain.  I wondered how long I'd get to keep my job, or if the next time the phone rang it would be the dean's office with an order to come upstairs for the last time, to do the paperwork and then be run out of town on a rail.  (They actually do that in academia, in case you didn't know.)  None of that happened, but I remember the hunger and the uncertainty.  Then tenure came.  After that initial blast of shocked gratitude, it all became sort of "meh."  I'm very grateful for what I have, and I don't take it for granted, and I sure don't miss the uncertainty...but it's like I'm a different person now.  I'm part of the establishment here.  I have only one more promotion for which to shoot, and though I have every intent of going for it, it's not like I'll lose my job if I don't get it.  

(Though, the funny part is, since becoming tenured I've probably done some of the best teaching of my life.  Not having to worry about certain things has made me feel free to try new things, to innovate and so on.  I know now that the real standard I have to meet is my own, which is an impossibly high standard to begin with.  So, in a weird way, it's been liberating, and my young hunger has now given way to a more abstract but still intense version of the same: to be the absolute best I can, so I will know I've given it my all.)

Why my trust gets fractured

Any time you get in a motor vehicle, you have to have some degree of trust and faith in the other folks on the road.  You would assume, at least, that they don't want to be in a wreck any more than you do, and that they'd act accordingly.  That would be the ideal, at least.  But the reality is, more often, they want to be the one in the right, or with the right to move first, or whatever.

I've been fortunate in the 20 or so years I've been driving.  The lessons I learned in my first few years really stuck with me, and I've also developed a sense of caution.  I've heard and seen enough, and experienced enough, to know you need to look out for the other guy.  Most of the time, I assume the other guy will try to pull some boneheaded move, and that's when I know to hold my position, check up or get out of the way as fast as I can. 

This has saved my bacon a few times.  A few years back, I was about to drive home, and the route home requires me to cross a very busy main road in town.  I was at an intersection.  The light had just turned green.  I hadn't yet moved.  Out the corner of my eye, I saw a Buick tearing along that main road at too high a rate of speed.  I had the right of way, but I knew what was about to happen, and so I waited.  Sure enough, that Buick shot through the red light at 40 or so.  Had I moved, I'd probably have been right in his line of fire, and probably have been killed.  That's part of why I don't trust the other guy on the road.  That's why when a light turns green, I pause for just a second and make doubly sure the cross traffic has stopped.  Because I remember that Buick, and what could have happened.

I was reminded anew one night last week.  Hubby had called and invited me to meet him for dinner in town.  So I did, and we met up and had a nice time, and then started out for home.  I was at the intersection of a somewhat busy road and the on-ramp for the Interstate, and had to make a left turn to get on the on-ramp.  The turn lane signal had just gone out when I got to the line, so I held up and waited for an opening in the oncoming lane so I could make my turn.  This took a little bit.  Finally, it looked like I could go.

Of course, what had happened in the time I'd started my move was that a large Dodge pickup had pulled into that oncoming lane.  The light was turning yellow.  I'd committed to my turn by this point, so I had to get going.  The driver of the pickup, meanwhile, moves to the outside lane.  I can't discern his intentions.  Is he about to go for the on-ramp, or go straight?  Either way, as the yellow comes up, he does what some folks do when they see a yellow: stand on the gas to try to beat the red light.  This meant that as I turned, out the passenger's side window I see a pair of bright headlights and a big chrome grille bearing down on me at a high rate of speed. 

It's funny what goes through your mind at moments like that.  I've never had an accident in all the years I've driven.  Is this how 23 years of safe driving ends?  More to the point...is this going to be it?  Is this how it is I die?  (It's also funny what comes out of your mouth, too.  At the top of your lungs.  Words you take such great pains not to say in ordinary life, because you know how they make the angels weep.)

What happened next, I can only attribute to the grace of God, and to whatever latent race-car driving abilities may be encoded in my DNA from whatever kin I have who fled the revenuers back in the day.  My mouth panics, but my body reacts. It was pretty amazing. So as my mouth is saying the nasty words, my reflexes tell me to firewall it.  So I throw on the power, half-expecting to feel the hard smack and hear the sickening crunch of steel and Endura any second.  Fortunately, my little car responds to my entreaties.  Her little bobbed tail clears the lane with probably no more than a foot to spare.  There's no sickening thud, none of that fury I expected.  Only the reassuring tickety-tick of my little car's engine, the whine of the transmission running through the gears as normal. 

Out the left window, I look to make sure we're clear.  I see the hot dog in the Dodge throw on his binders, and something in me hopes it scared him too. 

About three miles down the road, I realize my left hand still has a death grip on the steering wheel, and I relax it.  I spend the rest of the night praying a lot -- for thanksgiving, for forgiveness for what I've said, and so on.  The temptation was there to say some pretty harsh things about the truck's driver, for what he did was a fairly boneheaded, dangerous move.  But I also can't escape wishing I'd just waited through another light sequence for the green arrow.  I also know that it was nighttime, and I hate night driving anyway.  And I also know I was really tired, and that "get-there-itis" was setting in.

The experience was a nasty reminder for me to wait next time -- and, I hope, a reminder to the truck's driver that gunning it through a yellow light is a stupid idea.  (And I speak from experience, having once been ticketed for going through a yellow...the cop who pulled me over said they'd had several wrecks at that intersection caused by people doing just that.)

Oh, and to add to the icing on the cake: on the drive home, I spend several miles with a Honda stuck behind me. With its bright lights on.  (And an unnecessary set of equally-bright driving lights.)

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is a reminder why I don't like trusting other drivers.  And why, sometimes, I'm wary even of myself.

For more installments of "I Learned About Flying From That," click here.