They Needed A Postal Code

Yesterday morning I woke up with the intention of not writing or posting anything on my blog. I say this in fact with a guilty conscience.


I had a little something, an adventure shall we say, with my car the other day that put me in not so good a mood for a while. I had just gotten the car back from the mechanic about ten days ago where I had everything checked and fixed in preparation for winter, only to have it break down in the middle of the road the day before. Luckily it was a sunny day and I was on the right lane, on the bike path. It had snowed earlier during the week and I had had a hard time scraping the ice from the window prior to driving.

The first thing I did of course was to call the mechanic and ask for the car to be towed. I texted my kids to let them know my cell phone battery was low just in case, and they both offered to leave their school and work to come and help me but I declined. Here I was sitting in my broken down car in this strange city thinking if things had been different, like if I were back home instead, I would have had so many people helping me now.

While I waited in the car in the cold for the tow truck to come, a young man stopped his car and asked me if he could help or if there was anyone helping me, ignoring the snow truck from the municipality that was honking nonstop behind him. And I thought to myself, humanity isn’t completely dead after all, there still are some good people out there.

Afterwards I had a hard time calling a cab home because they need a postal code. How the hell am I supposed to know the postal code of every street or area that my car breaks down at? Even though there was a big school near where my car was, and it was one of the main roads of the city, they required a postal code. I hung up and started walking. I don’t know how long it took before I was home, but by the time I reached my feet and hands were numb from the cold.

Today when I wanted to write I was hesitant at first. Here I was with all these feelings of pain and anger and sorrow bundled up inside me wanting to get out. I wanted to write about my love, my loss, my feelings of despair. Yet every time I tried to put words on paper this little voice inside told me to stop. It told me to stop whining, that people do not care about my pain or sorrow. Why should they? Everyone has his/her own pain and sorrow to deal with, so the least they are interested in is what I have to say. But then again, leaving all self doubt aside, I have to blog and just try to put my feelings out there in my own style and my own way. After all:

“You can only lose something that you have, but you cannot lose something that you are.” Eckhart Tolle


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