I drove along the snow and slush covered roads, white knuckling it the three and a half hour drive (one that should have taken two hours, thankyouverymuch).
My instinct associated gripping the wheel with protection from bodily harm.
I was tense over my being late, and there being no safe way to speed the process of getting there.
I loathe being late. Ask my kids what mornings look like as bus stop time approaches. My voice tightens like my hamstrings after a 20 km run, and I turn into a female version of Captain von Trapp.Read More