Leave it Open-ended (Book Part 3)

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I shift the car into gear and head towards the lake.

“Soften your gaze. Be present. What a precious gift. Thank yourself for this time.” The yoga instructor’s voice was a gnat’s buzz that I initially wanted to swat away from my ear. And yet, at the end of the 30-day impulsively bought Groupon, classes become a cocoon-like daily salve allowing my wounds to heal.

It will be another month before I consider road-tripping an option. Until then, I’m just trying to get by.

Winter had been brutal, and not passing the counseling licensing exam was the last straw. Yoga had been a hail-mary attempt to get something, anything going when nothing else could.

After exiting the highway, the asphalt changes to a primitive road of gravel and silt. The craterous dips and sharp edges of embedded boulders warn me of entry, threatening tire puncture if I’m not careful. After tightrope walking a hot bed of coals, I wonder and doubt where the road is leading me. At a level stretch, my foot leadens, and red Wyoming dust spews and spills in through the summer-readied windows. Tall grasses blur as I rush onward. I notice a worrying sharp rock’s point and slam on the brakes, swerving to avoid it. I can’t get my windows up fast enough as my lungs fill with the thick, sooted air. Coughing, I rub my eyes free and start rolling slowly forward, then spot a metal sign:

LAKE DE SMET
MONUMENT POINT &
MALCOLM WALLOP
ACCESS AREA

“Why not leave it open-ended?” my poker floor supervisor, Pepper, said, flipping the idea off the end of his thumb like an unwanted coin. Asking for a month, maybe two, had seemed like a stretch, like asking permission from Daddy for ice cream for breakfast. However, it wasn’t until that moment of total support from a person whose opinion I held higher than most that I started to think that maybe I was onto something, maybe something big.

And it’s on! A game of cat and mouse ensues, and it’s me against the dust cloud. Like a storm chaser outrunning a tornado, I’m gunning it and thrilled by outwitting nature. Due to lack of visibility, thick brush encases and flanks me on both sides, brushing my car and begging, I keep my eyes locked on the road to ensure no vehicle is coming. At a change in the brush and a sharp turn, I’m thrust into an open space of sandy beach the size of a football field. Suddenly self-conscious of my Tazmanian whirlwind of soot, I sit helplessly watching after it wafts over my car and head straight for a two-door pick-up truck parked at the lake’s edge. I hold my breath, berate myself for the mistake, and tense my body for impact.

Then, a wind gust stiff arms it to the side and into the overgrown brush. I’m in disbelief, but after several long, deep breaths, I unclench and shift my car into gear. Then, at a thoughtfully slow pace, I move at an angle toward the lake, away from the other vehicle.

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