Turning the Corner on Crazy

I am losing my mind. I am sure of it, but what option do I have? This morning, when I walked my husband to the ferry to send him off to work in the city, the temperature was hovering around ten degrees and the wind chill was driving it down deep into the negative digits. “It might be too cold for my bike commute,” I mumble, hoping that Twain will quickly agree with me and maybe even insist that I stay home.

“Nah.”

I try again, “It is freezing, and this wind is punishing!”

“You will be fine. What are you, a wimp now?” With that he gives me a goodbye kiss and boards the ferry, leaving me alone to deal with my demons.

Those are fighting words to me and like it or not, I know that I am going to walk home and climb aboard my bike to ride around this god-forsaken island twice to complete my nine-mile commute to my home bathroom/office. But, rather than being annoyed by his pressure, I actually appreciate it and feel myself rising to the challenge. After being married for nearly 25 years, he knows that sometimes I need to be pushed off the curb, for my own good.

I growl back in his general direction, but I feel my mind shifting from trying to find excuses into preparation mode. What will I need to survive this ride with all my digits intact? I will need rain pants over my sweatpants to block the wind, yet give my legs a full range of motion. I will need wool socks and leather boots to keep my toes from freezing. I will need insulated windproof mittens, a warm hat under my helmet, and a scarf to keep out the wind that will surely scream through the zipper on my down jacket. And ski goggles, I think my son Oakley has a pair that I can borrow. That should do it. That and some fine tunes blasting through my headphones so that I can feel like I am starring in my own superhero movie.

When I am all geared up, and ready to depart, I glance in the mirror that hangs inside our front door. What I see there looks far more like a cartoon character than a superhero. My hair sticks out from my helmet like straw, uncut for many months. My face looks pinched and severe, aging rapidly from the cold and wind that has been pummeling it through all our winter adventures. My yellow rain pants bag around my ankles making me look like a cross between a duck and an overgrown toddler.

I realize at that moment that I have turned the corner on crazy. A teenagers nightmare of a mother.

However, there is nothing to be done about it. I zip up the last two inches of my jacket and step into the cold. The wind blasts up around me, and my hair flies into my mouth. I crank up the tunes on earphones and do a little warm-up dance as I pull my bike out of the rack.

I take solace in the fact that many of us are turning the corner on crazy right now, and I hope my neighbors don’t judge me too harshly as they see me pass by. Their crazy is probably just a little more private. And I know it is this, or bite my son Oakley’s head off for just being a teenager. This, or nag my husband right up off the roof. This, or run for the hills. This or give up.

I don’t plan or hope to do any of those things. Instead, I will embrace crazy and laugh at my reflection. I can’t bear to hide inside.

The ride is bracingly beautiful and other than chilly toes and a numb thumb I am quite warm, the heat radiating from my heart and belly and rebuffing the cold morning air.

By the time I arrive home, I am nearly looking forward to my day of zoom counseling and the cozy chair that will cradle me for the rest of the day. Tonight, I will need to repeat this adventure for my evening commute home from work. It is like medicine. My son greets me on the front steps. “You look crazy,” he says.

“I am just doing what I have to do.” We all are.