HALFWAY UP THE HILL

So. Still a bit ill.

I threw back the curtains in the darkness. The park was white. The shed roofs were dusted with snow and every branch was loaded. Silently, the flakes still tumbled out of the heavy grey sky.

I sneezed. Then I coughed. Then I stumbled to the bathroom.

I quickly realised that I was faced with a couple of choices. I didn't feel much like walking to church through the freezing blizzard; that seemed like a poor option. However, driving in the snow is always a bit of a risk - especially in the UK, where we don't seem to ever be prepared for the slippy roads or the frozen ice.

The third option was not going at all. In some ways that seemed like a brilliant idea; the duvet was warm, the air was cool and quiet, I was croaky and voiceless, and the logistics were simple. However, I knew that there would be a lot of people who would be stuck without me playing, and I didn't think I'd enjoy lying in bed, feeling guilty.

So I trudged out, leaving a trail of squelchy footsteps in the bright white snow. I scraped the car, jumped into the driving seat and blew warm air at my frozen fingers.

Ten minutes later I was stuck by the side of the road.

Halfway up the hill: I couldn't go up and I couldn't go down. The tyres rolled against the slippery snow and the car slid, almost out of control. Thankfully, in these situations, everyone else on the road is in the same sticky sitcom. Quite a few cars zipped past me, slowed down, slammed on the brake lights and slid backwards down the hill. It's times like this that 4x4s, jeeps and Chelsea tractors could be really useful!

"I'm stuck," I texted Gareth. It suddenly struck me that the choice I'd made had actually led me to the worst outcome of all. I wasn't at home keeping warm, I wasn't going to make it to church without walking after all, and my car, rather than being sensibly parked at home, was in the middle of nowhere.

In the end, Emmie rescued me in her truck. I left my car on the road.

The result of all of that was that I was late and a bit frozen, and still under the weather of course. I don't feel I was a lot of good to the team today, but I did my best under the circumstances.

-

I've been thinking about the way I make decisions. I reckon it seems more complicated than it really is, due to two interesting factors:

One is that I overthink everything. There I was, churning through the options, mentally calculating that it was better to take the risk and drive, than either: walk through the snow and make myself even sicker, or not go at all. I factored in all sorts of unspoken parameters into that calculation process: what time it was, what people think of me, how I felt about going out in the snow, guilt, being late, the weather itself, and the importance of the morning. I wonder if I could help subconsciously processing it all like some rapid algorithm, or whether I could be a bit more impulsive?

Two is that I never considered at all, the one option that would have saved me the bother - asking for help. Why didn't I just ring someone up and ask for a lift in the first place? I could see the snow was bad, a number of people I knew would be there have more sensible vehicles.... Why did that not occur to me? And if it did feature somewhere, how come it found a space so far down the preferable options list that it's taken me a retrospective analysis to find it?

Why do I find asking for help so difficult?

I don't propose an answer to that question; I just think it's an interesting observation. Somehow I'm wired up to be independent and self-reliant and, well let's just get it out there, proud. And I'll be honest - I don't like that thought very much.

It fits in with my ongoing thoughts about how conversations get out-of-phase. I think through the gaps, sometimes without really listening, and certainly without conceding any leverage. But this approach logically only ever leads to one thing, doesn't it? Loneliness. Well that, or being surrounded by sycophants, which, let's be honest is ultimately the same thing anyway.

We need each other, we need vulnerability to make our relationships work and we need that connection of hearts - where sometimes I have the answer to your question, but more often than not, I need to listen to you without worrying that you've thought of, or already knew the solution without me.

I need help.

But of course, so does everyone who gets stuck halfway up the hill and can't move forwards or backwards without slipping about all over the place.