Car Wash Sanctuary

Have you ever pinched a hose while it was turned on? No matter how much pressure has been building up, the water just can't get through. You stand there, trying to spray the water to rinse off your car after washing it in the driveway, only to throw the hose down in frustration as you walk along the green, rubber path it has snaked its way through, trying to locate the problem. In your frustrations, you swear up and down that you will pay the $5.50 and take your car to the drive-through car wash the next time it gets dirty to avoid future cloggings and frustrations.


Sometimes I think parts of the body work (or don't, depending on how you look at it in this situation) like the hose. Sometimes the connections between the brain (the main water source) and different parts of the body just have a pinched connection that don't let them work like they are originally intended to.

Take the heart for instance. So often, this organ can run on what seems like a brain of its own, tricking you into believing that the facade is actually your brain running the show. It can try to run the rest of your body in efforts to compensate for the lack, but the pressure is continuously building up behind the scenes.

By the time you figure out what is happening, you frantically search to find where the blockage is in hopes that it is not a lost cause and that the brain will still be able to work harmoniously with the heart.

Earlier this week, I found myself sitting in a drive-through car wash. The door ahead of me was already sealed, and as I pulled Rhonda up to the inner stop sign, the door behind me rolled down, trapping me in what was soon going to be a very precipitous room. As the water started to trickle down at increasing speeds, I opened the cover of my moon roof (I refuse to call it a sun roof since my main pleasure comes from watching the stars at night through it) and watched as my sight was diminished by the water rushing down.

As the machine cycled through the rinse, wash, rinse, and dry settings, I watched for what seemed like the first time and really took in the whole scene. I was amazed at how small my world turned when I could no longer see out my windows. Everything enclosed in the car was crystal clear--it was my personal world of safety, however small it seemed. My mind started to wander as lyrics to Mumford & Sons triggered different thoughts.

For those few moments, nothing outside of that world mattered.

And then, as the rinse and dry cycles concluded the door ahead of me opened, signaling my need to leave so the next person could enter their car wash sanctuary.

Isn't it funny how life works sometimes...you find the most clarity when it's hardest to see with your eyes. As long as there are no pinches in the hose, the pressure doesn't build up and everything makes sense as it was intended to.

Maybe this isn't the time to mention that the lightbulb I was using just flickered out as I wrote my last sentence.