Nothing demands attention faster than an illuminated Check Engine light. Drivers may either pull over immediately or call a mechanic within a few days but rarely do they ignore the warning altogether. I want a Check Engine light for my life. This dawned on me during a recent chiropractor appointment for a sore hip that has prevented me from running. “When did this pain start?” Dr Kim asked. “Oh, I don’t know, about two, maybe three, months ago” I said. Bless Dr Kim that he didn’t ask the question I asked myself in the waiting room, “Why the hell did I not come in sooner?” I am not saying that we should panic brake and jump into immediate fix-it mode for any problem. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a fine-tuned personal Check Engine light as a reminder to “check in” with ourselves so that we can evaluate the seriousness of a situation and decide an appropriate action before it escalates into a catastrophe? Problems do not go away by themselves. Check Engine lights signal problems and if you ignore them, problems increase in intensity and then take more time, energy, money and other limited resources to fix. I remember when I felt the first twinge of pain in my hip. I thought about making a chiro appointment but dismissed it. My Check Engine light would’ve gently reminded me to take action by blinking or perhaps increased to a steady glare if I continued to ignore the “make the appointment today” message. When I finally arrived in Dr Kim’s office, my invisible Check Engine light was in full-blown strobe light mode. Not ideal. My ultimate Check Engine light would not be limited to physical ailments but alert to psychological situations too. Before I allowed somebody else to talk me out of something that I really wanted to do, my Check Engine light would respond. Flicker -- this is a minor difference that a simple compromise can fix versus FLASH FLASH FLASH -- this is a critical boundary invasion that will build into resentment, take action now! Before I allowed myself to talk me out of something I wanted to do, my Check Engine light would respond. Flicker -- be aware that this is a slight step beyond your comfort zone so just feel the fear and do it anyways versus FLASH FLASH FLASH -- be aware that this is a monumental jump out of your comfort zone so don’t expect yourself to go it alone or to tackle it all at once; reach out to friends or break it down into baby steps. A driver thinks he is in control of a car but if the driver ignores the Check Engine light, the engine will cease to work and it doesn’t matter what the driver wants or tries to do, the car will not go. Our brains are like the drivers of cars. Our engines are our hearts, souls, guts, or whatever you want to call them. Our brains may temporarily steer our hearts but if we ignore our hearts’ true desires over time, problems arise, then disasters, then catastrophies. Our Check Engine lights eventually demand attention. Just as owner manuals have the best maintenance information for our cars; our hearts have the best information of what we need for our own well-being maintenance. I guess we already have personal Check Engine lights, we just need to open our eyes and be aware. I’ll still wish for the bright flashing neon option though. © 2011 Michelle Sevigny. www.michellesevigny.com. Reprint permission granted with full copyright intact. Want to go to New York?” asked my friend, Deb. The budget traveler in me replied with a doubt-you-can challenge of “find me a good deal and I’m in.”
“I got one. $650 for airfare and hotel, including taxes” said Deb. My heart swelled with delight but an inner voice deep within my brain screamed, “are you crazy? New York? Too expensive!” Could someone with a quirk about money have fun in this costly city?“Manhattan is on your travel list and our money is at par” whispered my heart. “Book it” I told Deb and we, along with her mom, Anna, were soon flying to New York City for a whirlwind five days. Upon arrival at Newark International Airport, my gentle prompting steered us away from the $85 cab ride and we hopped on the $15 New Jersey Transit train that got us to Penn Station, in the heart of Manhattan, in less than 30 minutes (njtransit.com). We walked off the train and into the familiar backdrop of hundreds of movies. My fingers explored real three by six inch shiny white NYC subway tiles of the underground tunnels. I paused to absorb the anonymous floating sounds of a saxophone. We squeezed our luggage and bodies into a cramped station elevator and I was tourist giddy as a heavily accented man from the Bronx, (or was it Brooklyn?) welcomed us with a “hey, how yous doo-in?” We popped onto the bustling streets, right across from our Hotel. The 1,700 room Pennsylvania Hotel (hotelpenn.com) is the fourth largest hotel in New York City and while it was a bit frayed at the edges, it was clean. The extra wide carpeted hallways reminded me of the Overlook Hotel as young Danny raced his Big Wheel away from two gruesome figures in The Shining. We threw our bags onto the squeaky, sagging single beds and walked north into Times Square. Glaring neon. Honking taxi horns. Foreign languages. Tourists. Delivery drivers. Police whistling on every corner. Never-ending oops, sorry, excuse me’s. Your senses are overloaded yet enticed at the same time. The Broadway Theatre District was a few blocks to the west and we returned a few days later to enjoy my one splurge, the hilarious,Lend Me a Tenor. My brain was satisfied with the discounted tickets purchased in advance (broadway.com) so my heart thoroughly enjoyed the show. The easy-to-navigate NYC subway is the largest transit system in the world and I adored hunting for the descending green stairwells peaking out from densely packed buildings. We purchased daily MetroCards for only $8.25 which were valid for unlimited exploring. The waiting platforms were hot and humid but the trains themselves were air-conditioned and clean (mta.info). The Century 21 discount designer department store is like Winners but super-sized (c21stores.com). I spotted a pair of black designer sling backs and while most would not think twice of the $49.50 price, my brain was itching for a fight. I tried them on once, twice. “These are exactly what you wanted and you can even have fun saying, I got these in New York” said my heart. “Put them back”scolded my brain. I paced in front of the only size sevens like a new young mother. I got bumped away from my protective circle but continued to keep an eye on them from afar. At one point my heart was ahead in the debate and I grabbed the shoes, paid and told Deb, who was shopping effortlessly, that I’d be waiting outside before I changed my mind. My brain relented somewhat after I discovered that there was no sales tax for clothing or shoes under $110. We continued our foot tour over the next day and found St Paul’s chapel, located directly across the street from Ground Zero. Built in 1766, it is the oldest surviving church in the city and provided a refuge for emergency responders during 9/11. As a former police officer, I was deeply moved by the photos, letters and uniforms on display. Entrance is free. (trinitywallstreet.org). The Staten Island Ferry, also free, is boarded at the southern tip of Manhattan and takes you within photo distance of the Statue of Liberty (siferry.com). We stopped periodically for cold beers on our way along the waterfront to the Brooklyn Bridge. Built in 1883, it spans the East River and connects the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn. The next day, I explored the Upper West Side while Deb and Anna took in a Broadway double bill. Central Park, which is slightly smaller than Stanley Park, begins at 59th St and I explored the trails, lakes and ponds on foot. I ducked out of the park every few blocks to have a cold beer on nearby Columbus Way. As a Beatle fan, I paused at the 72nd Street park entrance to pay my respects at the Dakota building, where John Lennon lived and was shot on December 8, 1980. I walked north to 125th street in Harlem and checked out the Apollo Theatre which was preparing for the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death. While a few street people approached me for change, I never felt unsafe and used basic travel (and cop) sense and walked with a purpose and knew exactly where I was going. (apollotheatre.org). Later that night, I explored the TriBeCa area and enjoyed beer and appetizers in its many restaurants (barartisanal.com-since closed). I had already purchased a $20 ticket via the internet to see a band performing the Rolling Stones’s Exile on Main Street double album at the Canal Room (canalroom.com). The venue was tight for 300 people and the front row booth allowed the smooth sounds of the piano, horns and drums to vibrate off my skin. Our last day included Coney Island, which is actually a peninsula located on the southernmost tip of Brooklyn. The humid 33°C June weather had us wishing we had bathing suits. The beachside boardwalk led us to the 83 year old Cyclone wooden rollercoaster where we screamed like Justin Beiber fans. With an 85 foot drop and speeds reaching 96 km/h, this neck-cracking adrenaline rush was well worth the $8 ticket and 40 minute subway ride to get there. (coneyisland.com) We completed our scenic walking tour in artsy Greenwich Village, with its second hand record, book and antique stores and ended our night in hip SoHo. We hit four different patios for shared appetizers and toasted the end of our trip with $3.50 pints of Stella at the SoHo Room. All in all, I spent about $300, not including the theatre ticket. My heart was expanded with intimate and memorable travel experiences as I connected with New York City and its people and because most were low-cost or free, my brain was satisfied too. I might even wear those designer shoes one day. © 2011 Michelle Sevigny. www.michellesevigny.com. Reprint permission granted with full copyright intact. Photo by Michelle Sevigny I never took off my watch. I slept with it on. I showered with it on. I had sex with it on. As a police officer, I lived by my watch; 11:46am call received, 11:48 responding, 12:02 arrived on scene, 12:06 suspect in custody. As a dog trainer, my evenings were back-to-back appointments; 5:00pm Mocha, 6:45pm Toby, 8:30pm Fritz.
I was always enticed by the idea of slowing down, you know, living in the present. I had designed my life to function without an alarm clock and had given up on call waiting and incoming email alerts. But I continued to push life. One of my quirks. What will I be doing in 5 years? Next year? What will I do this weekend? What will I have for dinner next Tuesday? Whenever I worked in my home office, one eye scanned the clock, “what is taking so long?” or “look how long it’s taking you, what’s wrong with you?” or “it’s almost lunch time, let’s eat,” nagged my inner voice. I wanted to live in the moment. But what exactly did that mean? Only eat when you’re hungry? Ok, my watch says it’s 12 o’clock, lunchtime, I’m hungry. Go to bed when you’re tired? Yep, my watch says it 11 o’clock, bedtime, I’m tired. This year, I had planned to skip Christmas and drive south for some California sun. No definite destination. No time frame; maybe one week or six weeks. Wasn’t this living in the moment? On about day five, I lost my watch, or just the face to be exact. I noticed it missing while exploring Carpinteria, the small town closest to my campground. But you can bet that I acted like a booze-less alcoholic while searching my car, my tent, my camping bins and my duffel bag looking for it. I even looked under my dog's bed as if he was part of the conspiracy. I continued wearing the faceless watch strap like a smoker going thru withdrawal needed to hold his Bic lighter. Over the next two days, I greeted strangers with "d'ya have the time" instead of "good morning". The intensity of the question increased, "there's somebody, ask him, ask him, ASK HIM". Why didn’t I simply buy another watch? Good question. I have a quirk about spending money (another story) and couldn’t ignore my inner voice nagging, “you have another watch at home". On the evening of the second day, I chucked my watch strap in the garbage can. I promptly fished it out, hesitated and finally tossed it in and walked away. I twisted a phantom strap around my wrist for the next twenty-four hours. The weather turned cloudy so I headed north. As my inner voice allowed, I perused dollar stores along the way, but I did not find a replacement watch. And I never asked a sales clerk the time. I stopped when I wanted to stretch my legs or had to go pee and not every 60 minutes as per the Road Trip Master Plan. I stopped for lunch when I was hungry, and not when my watch said its ‘lunch time'. I stopped for a hotel when I was tired and not when my watch said it was 9pm. Upon arriving at home, the busy week before Christmas, I was less dependent on time. Store closed? Oh well. I had no reference to meal times and ate when I was hungry, which, it turned out, was not very often. I walked my dog for an enjoyable time and not for the pre-scheduled 60 minutes. Everything slowed down. I felt calmer. I never did put on my second watch. Then it happened. I was at my neighbourhood grocery store and asked “are you open tomorrow?” “Yes, miss, tomorrow yes, yes and Christmas Eve too, yes, yes” she said as she slid the green onions down the rigid stalks of the celery in my cloth bag. Uh… what was she talking about? Christmas was Saturday, Christmas Eve was Friday so that meant today was Thursday. Thursday, Dec 23. My hand remained suspended laterally as she put my debit card into my palm. While I was getting a kick out of not knowing what time it was, I did know the day. Thursday. Not Wednesday, Thursday, the day before Christmas Eve. While I could've just asked her what day it was, it was like I needed a second opinion, like a third person is needed to settle a trivia bet. I drove home quickly. I didn’t have a clock in my ‘98 Honda. As I entered my apartment, I scanned my walls and dvd player and they couldn’t provide evidence. What DAY was it? I heaved my groceries onto the counter, flipped open my laptop and eyed the bottom right-hand corner. 2:42pm. I hovered the cursor over the digital clock, and the floating white bar clearly said “Wednesday, Dec 22, 2010 2:42pm”. At the most chaotic time of the year, I had gained a full 24 hours. I love proof. Show me it works, even a little bit, and I’m a believer. Whole hog. A fanatic, really. Another quirk. Gaining a full day was proof that living in the moment slowed things down. Hard-core here I come. While I do have a clock on my stove, when my timer went off a few days ago to signal my laundry was done, it had stayed at 0:00. I liked it. The clock is only a push button away; but the funny thing was, I no longer pushed it. Yesterday, I put my whole alarm clock in my nightstand drawer. Today I turned off my computer’s display clock. Over the last two weeks, I’ve lost my dependence on time and I’ve never felt calmer. I drove to California for the winter sun and came home with the lesson about the gift of time. As the saying goes, “when the student is ready, the lesson appears”. © 2011 Michelle Sevigny. www.michellesevigny.com. Reprint permission granted with full copyright intact. Photo by: filtran |