No guardrails

Slowly, ever so slowly,

with many pauses for deep breath,

I could feel the wheel’s grip

as it touched down

on paved surface.

Not triumph.

Not relief—not yet.

Just that low, grounded hum of rubber meeting asphalt.

Familiar. Solid.

The kind of surface you don’t realize you trust

until it’s been taken away.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t cheer.

I didn’t slam the car into drive and speed off.

I sat there.

Hands still.

Eyes wide.

Breathing in the fact that I made it.

Not without fear.

Not without a thousand whispered questions.

But still—

I made it.

The road had narrowed.

The tree had fallen.

The backup camera lied—

or at least, confused me.

My own eyes couldn’t be trusted

through twisted mirrors and distorted angles.

And the whole time, Google Maps chirped,

like nothing was wrong:

“Turn left. In 450 feet.”

As if it knew where I was.

As if I wasn’t parked on a rutted path,

no guardrails,

no shoulder,

no space to turn around.

But I stayed with myself.

I adjusted the side mirrors.

Adjusted the rearview.

I counted the feet:

Five. Stop.

Ten. Breathe.

Twenty. Reassess.

In that rhythm,

I found something

I hadn’t realized I was looking for.

Not a house.

Not a view.

Proof.

That I could do this.

I even considered texting my kids.

Not to say I was lost—

but to share my location

in case I lost service

when I crashed.

If I crashed.

I thought better of it.

They didn’t need the alarm.

Not unless it was real.

So I didn’t send the text.

I took a breath.

I let the car roll—

one, maybe two miles per hour in reverse.

No acceleration.

Letting the car move

at the speed

of my nervous system.

And now,

with the paved road beneath me,

the curve behind me,

and the dust settling in the mirrors—

I sit still

a moment longer.

Because I know something now.

It’s not the road that made me afraid.

It’s the knowing

that sometimes...

No one’s coming to save me.

And still—

I’m here.

I found my way.

My hands never let go.

***************************************

A quiet reflection:
Have you ever found yourself on a road with no guardrails—literal or otherwise?
What helped you keep moving?

Navigating the long middle — one quiet truth at a time.

Mary