Independence

Limited by Choice

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

Independence. That’s what I equate with my Driver’s License. I gave up my independence a few years ago. I knew I wouldn’t like it much, but turns out, I really dislike it.

I made the decision mindfully. I knew it would be limiting. I weighed the pros and cons, considered the consequences. I discussed it with my husband. What I didn’t anticipate is how much my choice would impact my feelings of being trapped and controlled. Those feelings are imposed by me. No one else. I think it’s my own association between having the freedom that comes with having a Driver’s License, and the dependence I feel without it.

I really don’t like having to depend on others for something so simple as a run to the store, or even the post office. We live in the country, in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like I can just hop a bus. There are none. I must ask my overly generous husband to pick things up for me, to be the constant shuttle for our daughter, to do the grocery shopping after work, and I must always be satisfied with the results. Losing my independence has taught me patience. After all, patience is a virtue, I’m told. I am virtuous (that’s sarcasm – sarcasm is not a virtue – it’s a coping mechanism.)

When I was 30, I planned a week-or-so long trip for just myself and my dog in my truck. I traveled to Southern Wisconsin near Madison and Milwaukee from Eau Claire to spend time and stay with a couple of friends. Then, just to go places, to see and do things, I traveled through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and then into Northern Minnesota before returning home. I pumped gas on my own, stopped to eat on my own, camped in campgrounds and checked into hotels on my own. I enjoyed the freedom of my own agenda, following my own timeline.

I went from driving my big, black truck cross-country, to becoming the reluctant passenger in a sedan. (Maybe somehow this has even become a metaphor for my life.) I was a “road warrior” by nature. Even long car rides wear me out now. Most everything, from where we live, is a long car ride.

Even scheduling appointments is challenging. From the doctor to the veterinarian to hair or the gym, everything must work around when my husband is available to drive. This means considering his work schedule, as well as when he needs to be available for our daughter’s activities. I guess I cannot do anything on my own. I may have the time, but it seems I am without means.

I used to be able to hook up my own horse trailer and travel to ride any trail I wanted. I can still hook up my trailer, and load my own horse, but I am not allowed to go past the end of my own driveway.

This progressive disease that I harbor is basically destroying my brain. I can’t walk far on my own without tipping over. I can’t ride a bike. I can’t write by hand. I can’t even see straight. But I must be grateful. I am grateful. Grateful that my body does not suffer chronic pain, and that it does still allow me to interact (though speaking understandably can be difficult – I despise speaking on the phone.) I don’t like dwelling on what I can’t do anymore, but with each day, the list gets longer. At some points, it becomes overwhelming. Then I must rest. I work on continuing to act in ways to maintain my independence from home.

Do I sound angry? Frustrated? Yes. Thank goodness I’m resilient.

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