The Hands of Fear

Above: Madame X, the mysterious woman burglar on “I Love Lucy.” I stole her name for this post. The role was played by a woman named Alice. My Madame X looks much more menacing.

Too often, fear drives the car of my life, a scary thought in itself. Let’s face her as the villain she is, Madame X. Green skin, dark cloche, shapeless dress, severe black lace-ups with heels. So evil that she chases adorable little dogs and daughters and sons and parents, especially parents, probably mothers most of all. Not someone you want to trust driving your vehicle, especially with you in the passenger seat.

She haunts me. With her at the helm, life feels unsteady, unmanageable, shifting, out of gear. It’s hard to think clearly, calmly and capably, to ask my editor why my writing payment is taking so long, or to trust that things will go right with Punchy’s school placement. No, I can’t do those things, not if Madame X is at the wheel.

If I give Madame X permission to hold the wheel and the gear shift, no wonder I am prone to catastrophize and think my car--or even yours, since you’re traveling life with me--will careen off the road. 

I realize as I write here that I have skills and ability to change that, to take back the wheel. I can firmly and steadily wrest it from the cold, bony hands of Madame X. I trust myself not to careen off the road. I am a safe driver, not erratic and mean (at least if my brain is clear, not clouded with sugar, my substance of choice). All Madame X does is feed my nerves, add to the troupe of worry dancers in my head, and enjoy watching the show.

When I was a little girl in Dumont, I was afraid of the big hole in the lower trunk of an old tree in the forest behind Bedford Park. I thought a witch lived inside that dark, damp hollow and I didn’t want to take any chances and stand alone near that tree. Also under Witch heading, I was terrified of “The Wizard of Oz." I clung to Pudding, my blonde dolly in red and white smocked dress, alone in my bedroom when the movie played on T.V. downstairs.

Now, I am not phased by those hollowed out tree trunks. I love to walk through forests and feel small in big, sweeping, strong nature. 

Now, I can return to clear and steady driving on life’s road. I think I can. But moment by moment, day by day, it will require the wherewithal to remember that I hold the wheel in my hands, that I don’t hand it over to wily Madame X--not if I want to travel safely, eyes on the road.

Oh, wait a minute. I do hold the wheel, here on earth, here on crazy Route 46 West, but truthfully, I believe that some spirit or starry galaxy or mother above holds me while I drive the car and if I pause and ponder, I get guidance to make the right turns.