Homeostasis by Kat Magendie

The road is narrow and curving, some snow still visible in the higher elevations. Roger is driving, and from the passenger side, I can see where the road drops away with nothing between our car and what looks to be a thousand foot drop. We slow to make a particularly sharp curve, easy…easy. A truck approaches. We pull over to a stop to let them by, and eye each other as they pass, smiles on our faces, waving that one-hand “hi there” wave strangers but locals give each other. Then, we're off again, winding, curving to our destination.

I have the realization that I'm not grasping the seat or gritting my teeth. I've become used to driving in these mountains, exploring the little-used roads and the steep drop-offs where there's nothing between me and a tumbling ride toward the bottom of a mountain, unless the trees stop me, that is. When I first moved here, I was tense, nervous on mountain roads that weren’t even close to this perceived danger. Homeostasis. Our mind-body smartly adjusts so we can relate to our environment in a way that is not constantly in a state of fear or dread or anxiety. This is the same area I visited three and a half years ago—only I have changed.


I wonder. How much have I adjusted to in my life? What kinds of things were once scary, maddening, or anxiety-producing that I no longer react strongly to? Are there important things I'm missing just by a seemingly complacent attitude? Or rather, this is just life—live it the best way I can; live it with gratitude...ONWARD HO and YEEHAW! Just as I'm about to do the mental pump-fist-in-the-air, we hit a small patch of ice and our Subaru fishtails—I tense, wait for the bad to come, and when it doesn't, I relax. Up ahead, a car inches along, and when they pull over to let us pass, the occupants’ faces are frozen in fear. I grin. I wave. I relate to them—hey, give it time, you’ll adjust, OR! you'll go back home and kiss the ground you came from.