Rallying with Restraint

The corner approaches faster than I’m familiar with.

I eye the thick curb made from decomposing maple leaves.

“Slippery as hell,” flashes through my mind.

“Can’t trust those,” I mutter aloud.

The road narrows.

The margin for error shrinks.

———

Normally, I weave my playful driving into the twists and turns of daily life. 

I take the scenic route, the back roads, the side streets. In these quiet spaces, I have my fun without endangering others on my way to the gym, the supermarket, the butcher, the baker, wherever else life takes me.

But lately, I’ve been needing daily doses of spirited fun.

———

I know as soon as I hit the brakes to turn in that I’m in trouble.

I’ve asked the impossible.

The ditch whispers. 

The fence beckons.

I’m committed, like it or not.

———

Pushing edges is how you discover new parts of yourself, how you find new, unexpected ways of moving through the world that you might just love.

Opportunities to push your edges are everywhere: on the road, in the gym, in your mind, body, or spirit, relationship, business, or career… anywhere you show up: 

Your willingness to push your edges predicts your growth.

No push, no growth.

No growth, no change… then slow regression.

For some, this is acceptable. Comfortable. Safe. Easy. Even pleasurable.

For me, for others, the edges’ siren call is intoxicating.

———

As the brakes bite and the car rotates, the rear breaks free.

All four wheels slide sideways towards a big ‘ol crunch.

I literally wrestle the wheel left, left, left, counter-steering with muscle.

I need to bleed more speed, but if I stay on the brakes the rear’s momentum will build into inevitability, snapping the car around and into the ditch.

So I come off the brakes, releasing the front wheels to drive momentum forward instead of drifting sideways, but only for an instant. I’m not out of the woods yet.

The car is still sliding, still too fast.

I go again: back on the brakes while wrestling the wheel left. 

The rear won’t settle. 

Off the brakes again, more gas.

Finally, the rear grips up.

The car is pointed straight.

I’m not sliding.

I breathe.

———

This week, I discovered the deepest reason why driving is play for me: 

I’m in constant dialogue with my edges in a special way. 

Typically, pushing your edges means finding your limits, then flirting, dancing, toying with them as you build familiarity, comfort, and capacity for more. You step beyond your edge, then step back, a smaller step back than you took forward.

But on the road, I must also practice restraint from stepping beyond my edges.

Losing yourself in the thrill is seductive.

Biting off more than I or the car can chew is a dare away.

Back roads are no race track with run-off and safety barriers.

Letting ambition overcome adhesion is a driver’s greatest temptation.

There are real consequences in play. I’m keenly aware of the risk.

I’ve learned physics through the lens of car control, cornering techniques usually reserved for the race track, analyzed the dozens of different corners I play in, and I practice restraint from pushing as hard or as fast or as far as I could.

I leave margin on top of margin. I accept smooth or fast enough, rather than chasing as smooth or fast as possible. I spent years building my understanding of the car’s capacity, as well as my own comfort, ability, and capacity for risk.

———

As I accelerate away from the corner, I realize I’m not in the ditch.

Somehow, someway, purely on instinct, I emerged unscathed.

The save was skillful, but I pushed too far. I feel this in my bones.

I didn’t push an edge. I obliterated one.

Growth is a dance.

You push forward, then step back. 

There’s a lull. You settle. You regroup.

You push again, further. You step back, but not as far.

Perpetually pushing is a one-way ticket to nervous system fray and collapse.

Growth is a literal, if invisible, process of expansion.

Pulsing in and out, forward and back, expands your capacity in a way that becomes sustainable, reliable, even predictable.

———

As the corner disappears, my instinct fades. 

The blinders come off.

Thought returns. 

And…

I start abso-fucking-lutely cackling hysterically.

With glee and surprise… with joy and disbelief… with delight and relief.

The road carries on straight for a while, and I’m laughing all the way, revelling in what just happened, knowing full well there’ll be no attempt at repetition.

I pushed an edge into the realm where growth leers at disaster.

These pushes are survivable, but the odds of success drop.

Your call.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander