A Delicate Balance
Sara Etgen-Baker
©
Copyright 2018 by Sara Etgen-Baker
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This
is a true account of the move my husband and I made
from my native North Texas to the Chihuahan Desert near El Paso,
Texas. Although I agreed to support my husband in relocating, I was
bitter and resentful and wanted to turn back. But within hours of
our arrival, the dusty terrain and simple landscape of the Chihuahan
Desert taught me an invaluable lesson.
I
stood in our
living room surrounded by cardboard boxes scrawled on with a broad,
black felt-tip marker. White parcel labels were stuck on black
garbage bags filled with clothes. The walls were bare, devoid of the
usual smiling framed faces; and dirt and dust shapes were on the
floor like templates of the furniture that once stood there. I paused
facing the stark reality that our home was no longer a home—just
an empty house that within days would become someone else’s
home. Today was moving day—the day everything would change;
and familiarity would be a memory locked away in an old dusty wooden
box.
Inside
I felt
undaunted, ready to face the challenge of moving across the entire
state of Texas and rebuilding our lives from scratch. But when Bill
and I closed the door and drove away, I struggled for composure. Yanked
out of the normalcy of life and pulled into a milieu where
life’s transience grows, I felt I couldn’t bear the
unpredictability of what may come. I bit my tongue, trying to hold
back the tears that threatened to leave my eyes. But I couldn’t
hold them back. First, one small crystal bead. Then another. And
another. My eyes flooded with them then burst forth like water from
a dam, spilling down my face; and the muscles of my chin trembled
like a small child.
“I know moving
and changing aren’t easy for you, especially this long-distance
one.” Bill reached across the seat and patted my leg. “But,
you’re gonna be alright, Darlin’. Promise.”
“If
you say
so,” I said, evading Bill’s eyes not wanting to show him
my doubt, my fear, and my deep-seated anger and resentment towards
him. I choked back my tears and looked out the window hoping the
scenery would somehow soothe me. For the next 100 miles, I sat
motionless, speaking not a word and staring into the side view mirror
of the U-Haul truck. One mile forward, one more, and then another. With
each mile we drove forward, everything familiar slipped further
and further away. By lunch time, the lush, tree-covered green hills
of North Texas gave way to the parched, bland Permian Basin with its
sage brush and low-lying mesquite trees. By mid-afternoon,
absolutely nothing was in front of us except miles of dry, hot
Chihuahan Desert. Flat was the land—yellow, ochre, and brown.
By
dusk a gnawing
wind stirred across the desert uprooting tumbleweeds and forming a
huge wall of dust. “Driving through this wind and dust is
impossible!” Bill gripped the steering wheel. “Do you
want to stop for dinner and give the dust storm a chance to blow
over?”
I
mutely nodded my
head in agreement. Bill exited the interstate and pulled into the
parking lot adjacent to Chuy’s—an old trailer converted
to a diner. We fought our way toward the front door; and once
inside, I heard the sand patter like rain against the trailer’s
metal walls and brush across the windowpanes. Silt accumulated
beneath the door and on the window ledges. I breathed in and choked.
The desert, like my anger and resentment, tasted bitter and brown.
I
looked outside;
the only thing visible between the diner and the interstate was a
battered barrel cactus, a couple of yucca plants, some cinder block
houses, and a ramshackle motel aptly named The Desert View Motel. Bound
for El Paso, eighteen-wheelers roared down Interstate 10
leaving clouds of dust in the dry desert air. The hot wind carried
the dust across the parking lot of the diner and deeper into the
small border town where all the dirt roads seemed to lead nowhere in
particular.
“You
and your
husband aren’t from around here are ya?” The waitress
handed me a menu.
“No!” I
snapped with a caustic tone of voice. “No, we’re not.”
“Never
seen a
haboob, have ya?”
“A what?”
I asked, a frown darkening my face.
“A
haboob—it’s that huge wall of dust you’ve been
driving through.”
“No,
I’ve
never seen one.” I sipped on my water and gazed out the window
at the swirling dust. “So, what causes a haboob?”
“Locals
say a
haboob happens because the desert is angry with itself. When the
anger persists, heat grows fueling the winds that stir up the dust.
Eventually, though, cool winds replace the hot air forcing the desert
to let go of its anger and bring it back into balance.”
Sounds
like a myth
to me,” I said sarcastically, wiping the dust off my arms and
face. “All I know is that I’m tired and feel gritty and
dirty.”
“Then you’ll
be needin’ a warm shower and clean bed. You can get a 30
percent discount over at the Desert View Motel. When ya check in,
just show Carlos your dinner receipt. He’ll fix ya right up.”
“Um, I don’t
know.” A shadow of dismay crossed my face. “Isn’t
there a LaQuinta or Holiday Inn nearby?”
“Nope. The
closest hotel is in El Paso, 55 miles down the interstate. Trust me.
It’s not safe to drive down the interstate during a haboob.”
Bill
and I ordered
dinner and ate in silence; afterwards, we heeded our waitress’
advice and checked into the Desert View Motel. Although our room was
cramped, it was clean—clean that is until we turned on the air
conditioner. Trapped sand inside the air conditioner flew across the
room; and a layer of the grit landed all over our sheets and
pillowcases. I showered and fell into bed; but even as tired as I
was, the sandy sheets irritated me. So, I lay awake most of the
night wrestling with the turbulent thoughts swirling though my mind.
Why
had I agreed
to this move? Sure moving to El Paso gave Bill an opportunity to
fulfill his life-long dream of teaching and coaching and seemed like
the right thing to do. But was his dream realistic or just some
midlife pipe dream? And what about me? Yeah! What about me? My
family? My friends? My own dream job and career? I glanced
over
at my sleeping husband. How could he possibly sleep with all
this
upheaval and uncertainty?! I resent you, Bill, for the sacrifices I’m
making on your behalf! I got up and paced around the room. How
would I survive let alone thrive in this colorless, lifeless,
god-forsaken desert? What was I thinking?
I
continued pacing;
but the longer I paced, the more my fear, resentment, and anger grew.
I opened the venetian blinds and pulled back the
curtain. The howling winds had ceased, and I wondered if cool air had
in fact
replaced the hot air that had churned up the desert just a few hours
earlier. Hmmm….Perhaps there was some truth to that crazy
haboob myth. I stared out the window at the inky darkness
freckled by thousands of tiny stars. The occasional hoot of a great
horned owl and the chirping of tree frogs were the only sounds
permeating the empty silence of the Chihuahan night. I closed the
blinds; plopped down on the edge of the bed. We’ve come too
far; too late to turn back now. I leaned back, finally
falling
asleep.
I
awoke early the
next morning; the sun sparkled off the dusty venetian blinds casting
a warm glow across the room. Curious, I peeked through the blinds
and discovered that the sky was now abundantly clear. The sun
glistened across the sand and beckoned me outside. I slipped into my
running clothes and jogged across the motel parking lot and onto the
sandy land in front of me. As I ran through the desert, my feet sank
in the soft, cushiony deep sand. My ankles felt weak, and I teetered
from side to side unable to keep my balance, eventually falling face
forward in the powdery sand.
“Damn you,
desert! I hate you!” I spouted, spitting out my resentment
and tasting the bitter, ochre-colored sand on my tongue. I looked up
and saw a cactus with a single yellow flower. How can
ANYTHING
possibly bloom here? Something rustled behind me. I turned
around and sat up. A short distance from me a roadrunner dashed
across the desert. Other than in cartoons, I’d never seen a
roadrunner. Fascinating!
“Miss! Are
you alright?” asked a genial voice behind me; I turned my head
around and found a brown-faced teenage boy staring down at me. “Here.
Let me give you a hand up.” He pulled me up, and
I dusted the sand off my legs and arms. “If you’re gonna
run in the desert, pick up your feet and look ahead; otherwise you’ll
continue to lose your balance and fall.”
“Thanks for
the tip.” I bent over and retrieved my hat and sunglasses.
“And
you might want to get different running shoes—ones that balance
your body and better support your ankles. By the way, my name’s
Miguel.”
“Nice
to meet
you Miguel.”
“I run pretty
fast, but you’re welcome to follow me if you like.” Miguel restarted
his stopwatch. “Oh, one more thing. Never
eat the sand!”
Miguel
chuckled then
sprang forward on his toes and sprinted across the desert; and for a
short while, I followed Miguel’s graceful, brown form mimicking
his style as he ran across the open Chihuahan Desert. Eventually, I
lost sight of Miguel but continued running alone until I found a
place to turn around. I stopped momentarily, catching a glimpse of
my silhouette—a lone, silent figure in the vast emptiness of
the desert. The still silence began clearing a gracious space inside
of me, and into this space came a presence allowing me to confront my
anger, pain, self-pity, and self-absorption.
I
noticed a gentle,
cool breeze had replaced yesterday’s hot, gnawing winds. The
breeze brushed across my face; I removed my sunglasses and closed my
eyes. I inhaled; filled my lungs; and exhaled, releasing my anger
and resentment into the barren stillness. I slowly opened my eyes,
and for a moment the sun blinded me. I shielded my eyes and looked
far off in the distance. The sky over the desert became a membrane
of orange colors; and the aridity had somehow freed the light,
unleashing the desert’s grandeur. The sand dunes in front of
me took on sunlight and pulse—a pulse that vibrated through me. I felt
a sense of ignition inside me, of being engulfed by a feeling
of deep connection to the world that lay before me.
No,
the earth here
wasn’t cloaked in forest, nor draped in a pastoral, peaceful
green. Instead, the desert donned a simple, comfortable,
khaki-colored robe trimmed in brilliant oranges and pinks. I
clutched it close to my heart and resumed my run, retracing my steps
back to my motel room.
“Bill, Bill!” I threw open the motel door. “Hurry!
Come outside. It's
amazing out here. The sky is a gorgeous, intense blue color." I stood
in the doorway; and using my fingers, I traced the outlines
of the wavy sand dunes on the horizon. "I'm sorry, Bill, it's
just..." I tried stamping down the rush of emotion. “There’s
lots and lots of beautiful sand. It’s kind of orangish-gold
with hints of pink, and I can see tiny clouds of it floating above
the ground, like…like smoke. It’s breathtaking,
absolutely breathtaking.”
Tears
came again;
but these were not tears of loss, anger, self-pity, or pain. Rather,
they were tears about this place of presence where I’d touched
down, tears about the beautiful austerity of letting go and living in
the present. Later when I thought about it, I realized that moving to
El Paso was an intensely fraying life event that had plunged me into
a mysterious, inward divestiture and distillation in which I learned
that life is a delicate balance between holding on and letting go.
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