Context Is Everything

If there is one thing I have learned in my years of higher education, it is the invaluable nature of context. So much of what was discussed in classes was context. History, politics, socioeconomic status, gender, publication, etc, etc. Context was the key in uncovering some important insights into the meaning or depth of a text. 

In the same way, context in life is vastly important.

It was a beautiful day out today. Over 75 degrees out and sunny. Flowers everywhere were popping up and everything was green. I sat in my car halfway up the exit ramp of the interstate, looking out the window at the empty glass bottle that had no label on it. My hands started to shake, and all I could think about was how much of a failure I was.

The first car I ever drove was a '72 Oldsmobile Cutlass. This glorified army tank was more rust than it was metal. The Cutlass had made its way through 3 older siblings before it became my ride. The ceiling was sewn back up using dental floss; a cd player had been added to the console, however there was nowhere to install the speakers, so a loan speaker was duct-taped to the floor between the driver and passenger seats. A seat cover was over the front seats out of necessity more than out of fashion; it kept the seat cushions mostly in their rightful places. The tank still ran, though. However, the brakes in the Cutlass were anything but reliable, and for that reason it ended up being retired by the Smiths. It was sold to someone who wrecked it 2 weeks after they bought it.

The car I drove from the time I got my license until last January was a '91 Nissan Maxima. This off-white car and I were a team for the better part of 6 years, and we shared many adventures. We've also shared many adventures. These adventures normally included me on the side of the road, calling my dad. The Nissan, Immy (Short for Immunity. I was going for positives vibes with the name), had a tendency to die. She'd die in intersections, she'd die on roads, she'd die just about anywhere. When she wasn't dying, she just might not be starting. Or maybe she'd be running, but her transmission wouldn't. She's had police man help push her out of the way, she's had O'Reilly Auto Parts' workers test her battery or alternator so many times that when they would see her pull in the parking lot they would grab the tester without a word from me.

Sophomore year of college Immy had some alternator trouble. This was the semester we went through three alternators. The first time we had bought a refurbished alternator which proved to be faulty. The second time we replaced it yet again before noticing a problem with the wires. We fixed the wires and third times a charm. During this time my dad couldn't get up to school to fix my car, so every night I would pop the hood, take the battery out of the car, and carry it into my dorm room so it would charge all night on the portable battery charger I had bought from Wal-mart. You don't understand the atmosphere of college until you are seen nightly lugging a car battery back and forth campus.

Immy eventually could no longer get me from point A to point B. In her stead, we purchased a '96 Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited. This Jeep has been my favorite car of all time. I am in love with basically everything about it. Well, everything about it that works. We bought the car for just over $800 and it has over 300,000 miles on it. It's a grandpa in its own right, even though it's the newest car I've ever owned. There are some electrical issues that cause it to think doors are open which are not open. Not really a big deal until this causes the alarm to sound. At all hours of the night. Even if you don't hear it because you are sleeping. So you wake up to find that public safety has towed your car because the alarm wouldn't shut off. And now you owe over $100 to get your car back. But it was 4 wheel drive and has given me many safe rides when the ground got a bit treacherous in these Midwest winters. However, recently it has taken to dying when it idles. Not all the time, however if I go very fast and then slow down and idle for a second... say, like on an exit ramp? Yup, dead. Dead dead. Normally it starts right up after dying. Normally.

While those are the only cars that have been mine, I've driven many a car with their own set of personal issues. I've spent several hours on the side of highways and interstates waiting for my father to come save me. I know all too well the way it feels when you lose your power steering and have to muscle your wheel to do what you want. I'm familiar with the grinding noise that happens when a wheel bearing is loose. I've had to change a flat tire in a dress, in the cold, on my way to a wedding. I've had to change a flat tire in the heat, in dress clothes, on my way to a wedding rehearsal. I've had to change a flat tire in jeans, on a busy road, on my way to see my best friend's baby when he was born. I've jumped cars, jumped on top of cars, waited for tow trucks, cancelled tow trucks, and coasted into gas stations. I've had my fair share of adventures. And normally, that's how I treat them. They are laughable occasions. Parts of life that were unexpected, inconvenient, but they build character. They make for good stories. Showing up late to a wedding covered in oil, watching the sunset as cars whiz past my stalled car, walking home after the transmission fails and you don't have a cellphone. Strangely good memories. Life is uncontrollable and cars are one of those things. I don't often cry about these instances. No tears. There's an immediate problem and while it is being solved, might as well enjoy life that is happening around you.

That dang label-less bottle. I kept looking at it. Cars would drive past me and wait at the stoplight and every now and then a car would be beside me. None of them close enough to look in and see my sobbing face. Which was a relief. I'm fully aware of the fact that sobbing on the side of the road is classy. I stare at the bottle, it keeps me from awkward eye contact with strangers. I looked over as this black SUV about the same size as my car pulled right beside me. Eye contact. The middle-aged, blonde lady driving the SUV took in my situation and gave me sympathetic grimace/shrug. I gave her a pathetic watery smile and dismissive hand wave. "No worries, nothing to see here. Thanks, though, for being nice". Amazing to communicate so much with a wave of the hand and a shake of my head.

I never cry over car problems. But, even after my car miraculously starts after 30 minutes on the side of the road, I continue crying. I cry the whole way home. Calming down just to get home and cry some more. I rarely cry in front of my parents (although I am not one of those girls who never cries. I cry often, or maybe not often, but I cry the normal amount of time. However, I try not to cry in front of people. Having brothers goes a long way in teaching you how to hide some emotions until your bedroom door is closed and your mix cd of sad music is playing). But cry I did. And I calmed down enough to eat and watch some tv with my little brother. And then he showed me some stupid video of some young girl singing a song on America's Got Talent and Simon Cowell stood up to clap at the end and I freakin cried again.

The context of my history of car problems shows a discrepancy with my reaction to a short 30 minutes detour today that didn't even need a tow truck. Because context, while being essential, is also layered. Context is complex.

Life is complex. Life can take something as simple as 30 minute stop on the side of the exit ramp and make it into a metaphor for how lame I currently am at playing this whole adult thing that I am supposedly supposed to be playing. Life can take a bad day and add something that would normally not bother you and make it the final straw on that poor, overloaded camel's back.

But Life is not just what happens today. Life is not just that label-less glass bottle discarded on the side of the road in the middle of the U.S. Something you have to zoom out from that moment and remember, context is everything.