It's basically been sitting dormant for a couple of years in my parents' barn. My brother had been working on it for awhile, replacing the radiator and what not, trying to get it to at least a functional status.
But I remember coming back from Kenya the first time, nearly 5 years ago now. The jeep was functional at that point in time and my brother would often ask me if I wanted to go for a spin in it with him. If we could load his dog's fat rear-end up into the back, he'd sometimes go with us as well. The jeep was a cranky manual with a gear shift that might as well be a mile long, and since I don't know how to drive a manual, he was always in the driver's seat.
I loved those jeep rides. I loved climbing up in that seat, with no doors, no windows and a bullet-pegged windshield, and just driving. We'd get to the end of the road and he'd tell me to pick a direction. We'd hit another dead-end and we'd pick the next direction. No purpose, no direction, no final destination, no thought, no radio, no cares.
It was like therapy without the therapist or the couch or the price tag.
And I relished those rides. And I relished even more that I wasn't in the driver's seat. I didn't have to think and I didn't have to be in control for a change. I could just hang my hand out the window, close my eyes, and feel the wind making a royal mess out of my hair, the sun beating down on my face. It was bliss. It was freedom. It was my saving grace in the moments when I was trying to keep the world upright. All rolled up in an old Jeep Renegade and a chauffeur in the form of my older brother.
I've been longing for those Jeep rides a lot here lately, like an ache deep inside. I keep thinking of the quote from Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, when Bilbo is talking to Gandalf in the very beginning of the story. He says, "I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.”
That's how I've been feeling these days, feeling thin and stretched (not so much the old part), like butter that's been scraped over too much bread. And that can't be right. And I don't know if it's change that I need or if it's just that ambiguous something that I need.
My job is taking a toll, asking me to pay a price I'm not sure I'm willing to pay, or at the very least I'm unsure of how to pay. It's one of those seasons when you know you are where God wants you - I know I am in the right place at my job, and I'm not looking to quit my job. It's not that kind of toll. But dang. The burden and responsibilities sometimes feel overwhelming and clumsy and defeating. And I'm no longer able to walk away from the job at the end of the day. I carry it with me everywhere I go. It's turning me into someone I don't know - or like. My capacity for life beyond work has narrowed considerably. All of the things that used to come so effortlessly and naturally - friendships, reading, creating, writing, painting - they are all an act of discipline and willpower now. It requires serious effort to reach out to friends in the evenings and make plans. It takes monumental thought to sit and read a book and actually comprehend what I'm reading. It takes a little bit of extra oomph to even think about sitting down to write a blog entry or journal entries. (You may have noticed I'm only averaging about one blog entry per month. In previous years, it was often one entry per week.) I give my job my very best and so when I come home I find I have very little left to give.
And I hate that. Maybe some of it I could chalk it up to age - I'm clearly no longer in college, with a dozen irons in the fire and not even breaking a sweat. But really I chalk it up to the fact that the job is eating me alive and I haven't figured out how to bite back yet. I know it won't always be like this. At least I hope it won't always be like this.
So, yeah, I'm feeling a little stretched thin these days (and I know I'm not alone in that). And I know that can't be right. And maybe I need change, or something. Or maybe I really just need a long, cathartic ride in an old, yellow and red, beat-up Jeep Renegade, with my hand hanging out the window and not a care in the world.
