Warning Signs
An overwhelming feel of existential dread grips me. I feel my body tightening, my feet leaving the ground, such that there is. I clutch the wheel tightly.
I am on a bridge. A long bridge. Usually over troubled water, real or metaphorical. It doesn’t matter where it is, but it generally has two features that immediately put me into a fear state:
Where in the world did this fear come from? I have no idea, honestly. My mother hated winding mountain roads, so do I, so does my daughter. But there, I’m ok if I’m driving the car. I’m on the ground while it’s twisting and turning. Not great, but it doesn’t produce that “OHMYGODWEAREALLGOINGTODIE” gut reaction that high twisty bridges do.
I think the worst I’ve ever felt was coming down from the Toronto area into Niagara Falls on the Canadian side. For miles, the road becomes a series of bridges over the Niagara River, its tributaries and wetlands. There’s a lot of wind currents off both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, because you are sandwiched between them on a peninsula. I was warned. That sign again.
Driving up the first leg of the bridge, a wind gust hit the car, lurching us sideways. I felt sick.
Fortunately, I was in the car surrounded by other Alexander Teachers visiting from all over the world. I was taking them (post-conference) to see Niagara Falls. At least, at this point in my life, I know how to ask for help.
“Please,” I said, “could someone put hands on me? I am not grounded and I feel terrified.” With that, I felt 4 pairs on hands on my shoulders, my back, my arms. And yes, I was in the driver’s seat. My dear German friend was in the seat next to me, and she talked me through a driving meditation of sensing my sit bones on the seat, connecting me to the floor of the car, to the tires, to the roadbed, to the giant concrete posts supporting the highway, to the ground deep under the water. Phew.
Four or five miles and an eternity later, we were off the series of bridges. Alive. Even me.
I now use that meditation every time I approach a bridge. I have found if I can get clarity on where the ground is before I start going up, it’s easier.
Just near my house, on the highway I use daily, three years of construction on a new flyover to get south of here is nearing completion. I get chills just looking up at it. It’s at least 100 feet off the ground at its highest point. And it has (get this) an S curve. I just don’t know. I suspect with the high walls that don’t let you look down that I’ll be fine.
I am on a bridge. A long bridge. Usually over troubled water, real or metaphorical. It doesn’t matter where it is, but it generally has two features that immediately put me into a fear state:
- It goes up, and it goes down (all bridges do…) but it involves a curve. A highway exit overpass can do the same thing to me if it’s high enough and I can see down.
- There’s a high wind warning sign. Seeing that is enough to make me stop the car.
Where in the world did this fear come from? I have no idea, honestly. My mother hated winding mountain roads, so do I, so does my daughter. But there, I’m ok if I’m driving the car. I’m on the ground while it’s twisting and turning. Not great, but it doesn’t produce that “OHMYGODWEAREALLGOINGTODIE” gut reaction that high twisty bridges do.
I think the worst I’ve ever felt was coming down from the Toronto area into Niagara Falls on the Canadian side. For miles, the road becomes a series of bridges over the Niagara River, its tributaries and wetlands. There’s a lot of wind currents off both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, because you are sandwiched between them on a peninsula. I was warned. That sign again.
Driving up the first leg of the bridge, a wind gust hit the car, lurching us sideways. I felt sick.
Fortunately, I was in the car surrounded by other Alexander Teachers visiting from all over the world. I was taking them (post-conference) to see Niagara Falls. At least, at this point in my life, I know how to ask for help.
“Please,” I said, “could someone put hands on me? I am not grounded and I feel terrified.” With that, I felt 4 pairs on hands on my shoulders, my back, my arms. And yes, I was in the driver’s seat. My dear German friend was in the seat next to me, and she talked me through a driving meditation of sensing my sit bones on the seat, connecting me to the floor of the car, to the tires, to the roadbed, to the giant concrete posts supporting the highway, to the ground deep under the water. Phew.
Four or five miles and an eternity later, we were off the series of bridges. Alive. Even me.
I now use that meditation every time I approach a bridge. I have found if I can get clarity on where the ground is before I start going up, it’s easier.
Just near my house, on the highway I use daily, three years of construction on a new flyover to get south of here is nearing completion. I get chills just looking up at it. It’s at least 100 feet off the ground at its highest point. And it has (get this) an S curve. I just don’t know. I suspect with the high walls that don’t let you look down that I’ll be fine.
This video shows both new flyovers. The scary one, not completed, is on the right, and is higher up than the one in green.
I wish I hadn’t had 3 years to think about it.
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