What Is Intention?

What Is Intention?

My marriage fell apart while I was in grad school. Sooner than I could take it all in, my husband said he’d sold our house in Idaho and needed me to come from California to move my stuff out so the new owner could move in. It didn’t matter that I was in the middle of understudying two shows and about to open another one. I had to get to Idaho.

I had two days. So I rented a fourteen foot truck, drove all the way to Idaho, loaded the truck with my ex’s help, slept a few hours and then got back in the truck for the drive back to San Diego.

It was January. I’d checked the weather reports and knew that snow had been predicted for the evening of my return drive. My plan was to outrun the storm.

I thought things were going really well. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for driving this big truck with the stick-shift from hell all the way up there by myself. Feeling proud for not falling apart emotionally when I saw him and the house, when I went through the process of separating all the possessions. But in the back of my mind I knew that what I was doing was more than a little crazy.

The return drive was uneventful until twilight when I found myself going up the mountains between Las Vegas and Barstow. As I switched on the headlights I saw thick snowflakes begin to swirl in the beams. A few flurries, I thought.

Darkness came as I pushed the truck up the mountain highway. And flakes got thicker and thicker until flurries became the wrong word for them and I had to admit I was driving in a full-blown snowstorm. I noticed, too, that there was roadwork on this side of the highway and all the run-away ramps and rest stops had been blocked off with barricades. No shoulder on this mountain road.

I was nervous and full of second-guessing about what I’d set out to do. Why did I insist on going alone? Why did I always push myself like this? Why did I care about these lousy pieces of furniture and kitchen stuff anyway? Why had I ever left California? What was I going to do with all this stuff when I got there? As I allowed these ideas to swirl through my mind, my focus on the driving lapsed for a moment. The truck hit a little thickness in the snow and went into a skid.

Time stopped as I learned fast how to feel my way into the skid and keep the truck from doing a three-sixty right there on the interstate. I got her back under control, cursing myself for the attention lapse. Berating myself for putting my life on the line like this for a truck-full of stuff.

And the berating was interrupted by another threat of a skid. As my heart raced faster than I thought it could possibly go, a big light went on inside me. I wanted to survive this mountain. More than anything I’d ever wanted before. And to do that I was going to have to keep every bit of me awake to the here and now. Even though I was terrified. Even though all I wanted to do was pull to the side of the road and wait out the storm. There was no side of the road, and I couldn’t just stop because when I looked in the rearview mirror I saw at least six cars behind me.

By this time I had reached the top of the mountain and was coming down the pass on the other side. Barstow, I thought. Just get me the hell to Barstow. The snow was so thick now that it was hard to see the road. All I knew was that I wanted to get down off this mountain. That I wanted to keep the truck from fish-tailing. That I wanted to stay on the road. That I sure didn’t want my last night on the planet to involve losing control of a truck and causing a pile up that would bring harm to me and the people trailing behind me.

Suddenly, life seemed very sweet. I didn’t care that I was going to have to deal with a failed marriage. I didn’t care that the weeks ahead would be filled with unknowns of every kind. I just wanted the chance to wrestle with all of it. The rotten and the joyful and the boring, too. I wanted tomorrow more than I’d ever wanted it in my life.

I sang at the top of my lungs to fight away my terror. I cursed with every evil word I knew. I prayed and made bargains with gods and goddesses. And every second I kept my attention on the road, the storm, and the truck. Even though I was tired. Even though I was afraid my heart was going to explode from the pounding. Even though I just wanted some extraterrestrial to beam me up off that highway and end this ordeal.

It took hours to get down the mountain. When I saw the lights of Barstow, I cried and laughed and pulled into the first motel parking lot I saw. I got into a hotel room, took off my clothes that were sopping with sweat, and switched on the TV.

I learned from the news that four cars went off the mountain that night. Six people died. Somehow, I wasn’t one of them. The somehow that kept me alive was what acting books call “intention.” Otherwise known as the will to live.