Down at the Car Wash

I don’t know if I classify as a claustrophobic, but I do not like the feeling of being in a room without having the windows or door open. My blood pressure elevates a bit. I think about exit strategies. I feel sweaty. I start to worry about hydrating. I want to remove myself from the confining space and out into the sunshine or rain, hail or snow – any kind of weather – just as soon as possible.

Last week I parked my truck down by the bay, and it was baptized by what looked to be the aftermath of a rowdy seagull kegger. I suspect that the birds were up on top of the canopy partying it up, having a blast, and not thinking about any after-party clean up. And it was clear as to what my afternoon was going to entail: washing the truck.

Being the literal “closet claustrophobe" that I am, I always wash my truck myself in my driveway (of course, using ecofriendly soaps). The thought of being trapped in a car wash terrifies me. I don't like the thought of being in tight places while being flailed, battered, and beaten about by high pressure hoses, massive brushes, and ribbons that swoop in and out from odd angles to whap-whap-whap the sides of my truck. It is a long journey for me through this lane of cleansing violence.

But after looking at my truck and surveying the aftermath of the gull party, I thought that I would push myself a bit, try on my new philosophy (inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt’s “Do one thing every day that scares you.”) and Try Something New: I was going to go through the car wash. Clearly, I was pushing the needle toward fearless. Eleanor would have been so proud.

For those of you who go through car washes with great frequency and a little ennui, the only other things I can compare my phobia to is other common phobias. Imagine yourself

• playing solo violin in an enormous venue

• speaking at a TED talk that will potentially be viewed by millions

• standing at the edge of a precipice

• feeling a small rodent running over the top of your foot in the kitchen

• seeing a spider dangling above your nose when you wake up in the morning

• buckling yourself into the seat of a plane when you just somehow “know” that it is going to crash

• reaching into the potato bin in the root cellar and discovering a snake curled up for a nap

• seeing a clown walking toward you in a dark alley

. . . this sort of thing. Whatever it is that sets your fear-o-meter to bouncing – this is what it is like for me in an automated car wash.

But cleanliness (another OCD thing I have going on) is a virtue. This particular day, my OCD won out and my Fear of Car Washes lost. I pulled up to the lane as instructed and was surprised to see that I was the only car there. Perhaps because it was the lull between steady downpours in our beloved Pacific Northwest, but I felt happy that there was no one behind me in line that would witness any ineptitude in me lining up my front wheels just so to line up with the chute.

The young man who met me was above-average tall and super lanky. With arms looking like they were made of tensile steel rods, it looked like he could really handle the hose of a pressure washer. And it made me happy that he was definitely tall enough to see and wash off the Gull Party Vortex on the top of the canopy. When I pulled up, his assessment was simply stated: "Wow, man! You really need a wash."

He walked me through the various purchase options and, not trusting the thought of coating my truck in wax, I chose "The Basic Wash." He assured me that with The Basic, it was likely that most of the stuff on my truck would be removed. That I might have to pull back around and try it again. I still stuck with “The Basic,” as it sounded like it would be a shorter trip through the Tunnel of Hell.

I was miraculously able to line up the front wheels just so – a guidance lesson in trust and, I must add, could make for a very good activity for a team building workshop. Then he and his partner-in-wash started to spray the truck down.

I felt myself starting to panic and questions flooded my brain. I hadn't thought to ask if the engine should be on or off. Being lined up on the chain, intuition told me to not have the emergency brake on. But what about being in neutral? I think he said to leave it in neutral. Oh my God! I was going to be shunted through the tunnel without any knowledge of car-washing etiquette. I started to sweat.

The men were having a lot of fun as they pre-washed, which helped to ease some of my tension. And I even surprised myself with an outburst of laughter as the tall one ricocheted a spray of diluted gull waste at the short one on the other side of the truck. Cussing ensued. The tall one laughed. (Tall people. I don't know.) Blessedly, there was a pause in the initial hose down, and I tentatively cracked my window an inch.

I croaked, "Should I have it in neutral?"

"Dude, you don't want it to be in park or with the brake on or anything."

"What about the engine? On or off?"

"Doesn't matter."

I am thinking, Doesn't matter? How can this be? I opted for off.

Well, you veteran Car Wash people know that nothing bad happens to you when you go through the wash. It is done in less than 3 minutes and you have a very pretty vehicle when you are done. I had survived. I was going to live. Emerging, I felt as if I had completed a line item from my Try Something New bucket list.

I could feel the bump as the truck was pushed off the track. The tall one told me to not take off just yet. He wanted to polish everything up nice and pretty, as a final courtesy.

I tipped him a $10 bill and drove away, feeling baptized by some strange mixture of victory and elation, humility and amazement. I had done it. I had conquered a fear that really wasn’t all that scary in reality. Maybe this is more the definition of “putting on my big girl panties” than “overcoming a phobia.” Maybe I just need to start ordering panties in a larger size.

While within the tunnel, I had started to panic a bit, wondering why the progress was slowing down, speeding up, or idling. Do I have a water bottle in here with me? A power bar? Should my truck be shuddering like this? But instead of feeling stressed, I grabbed my phone and started taking pictures midway through the experience. Nothing artistically stellar, mind you. Just click click click.

Some experiences deserve to be documented. Still, the look on my friend’s face when I later showed her my photo montage of being in the bowels of the car wash did not reflect any Wow! factor on her part. In fact, her reaction was rather bland – giving me the kind of look reserved for those times when friends show you slide shows from their recent trip to Costa Rica. My Gawd, how many more shots of birds and flowers are we going to have to look at?!? But she did tell me that I had done good, while patting my shoulder and pouring me another glass of chardonnay. No matter. I alone knew of the risk and the danger that I had survived.

Pushing myself all the way (beginning to end) through my reluctance to Try Something New (AKA getting out of my own way) is a good thing. A cleansing thing. I am now awake. I now like going to the car wash. So easy and shiny and pretty. And a good bargain, too.

“Stepping out of my comfort zone” has become a phrase that is easy to write about and not so easy to follow through on. At the onset of a nudge to try something scary, there is the overpowering temptation to just avoid that which gives us discomfort completely. Bypass it. It’s only going to use up time that I already don’t feel like I have enough of. I’m getting by just fine without trying that . . . insert your own script here. You know, the sorts of things we tell ourselves to stay stuck.

But when I push myself a bit. Set things up for anticipated success. Give myself permission to be afraid. Truly afraid. And then move myself out of and through the zone? It is liberating beyond measure. These are the areas that have applied significance only for me. I learned that making a friend endure blurry pictures of water cascading down my windshield isn’t exactly an art experience. But for me? It is evidence that I managed to move myself into a place that feels vulnerable. And without pushing through a little exposure therapy, I am simply stuck in place with Vulnerability plopped on my lap, making it difficult to see around while I drive.

My Try Something New for tomorrow? I am not sure. It hasn't revealed itself yet. But this passage of doing something that pushes me through any resistance areas has really opened up all sorts of possibilities in life. Like ordering a honey martini for the first time, trying a new tango class, introducing myself to someone whom I see out and about town all the time, not caring about my boss's bad jokes about my hair, wearing something that is not black, white, or gray, making that phone call that has the potential to propel a creative venture . . . these things may sound small and inconsequential but they are moving things around. Molecules are being re-arranged, like my dirty truck being renewed and cleaned and made shiny.

I am ready for the next thing on my "Be Afraid but Still Kick Some A$$" list. I can do this. I will do this.