How I am these days
Jane and I, engaged to be married in about six months, are driving in her small white Honda Accord. We’re going from our newly-purchased home in Los Angeles to visit her mother Betty, who is in declining health in Las Vegas.
We are on the I-5 freeway, climbing the steep, miles-long grade referred to as the grapevine.
“Shit,” Jane utters, “The car won’t go. It’s not working. I can’t go.”
“Foot on the brake,” I shout, “Put it in neutral.”
I jump out of the car, “Foot off the brake,” and I push us to the safety of the shoulder.
As we wait for the tow truck, Jane calms, and we joke about how calm I seem to be.
And I remain calm.
Until the tow truck arrives.
Now that it is safe to do so, all of the emotion I had been sublimating (in order to get us to safety) bubbles over, and I start to convulse.
—
How am I these days in light of tariffs and chaos.
Some of the answers that I’ve been giving to that question.
“Good enough—except for the parts that I’m not.”
“I’d be better if I weren’t catastrophizing.”
“Not well at the moment, but at least I remember which way I’m heading.”
And then there is one other answer, but it takes a little more explanation:
“I’m on the side of the road, the tow truck has just arrived, and I’m really scared.”
