Self-reliance drives the world. Where might I be without that? I still have a self and I am quite reliable these days, yet without a car far out in the rural Hawaiian countryside? Not so self-reliant now. One early discovery has been that without a car the Hawai'i state rainbow's pot of gold is likely a vat of lentil soup salty infused with ham hocks. A full bowl of soup is well enough but what the hell about self-reliant drive—doing the get-done and now, dammit. This is America and we are automobile drivers. Who will I be without an auto? How to steer my life if the car steering wheel is all done and gone?

Eleven weeks ago our family car Mauna Kea went kaput and so this random rogue factor continues—how will my drive in life accelerate now sans wheels? One requirement is new language. In a reasonably foreign to me vocabulary spelling is the v word—vulnerability. And that's a practice I'm relearning continually since self-reliance is a modern go-to. I have been taught to get the done done and as of yesterday. Without a car though? Que pasa?

Numbero uno vulnerable dynamic is the go ahead and ask factor. Before my driving demise, I grabbed keys off the kitchen counter and jaunted forward. Wherever the hell I damned well pleased. And I returned whenever the hell I decided. Freedom is what many label this. Some upset still with me I see as spontaneous curse words are flying across the screen. I never had to ask anyone much of anything because I was already on my way. Harrumph that, dear reader.

Yet now I send a text into the request ethers, or ride-share serendipity stratospheres, and then go ahead and...pause. Waiting and patience used to be hallmarks in my integrity backpack but recently I'm observing that as I continue being a Mama for a teenager, these attributes are waning. Who knew? What happens then after I ask an acquaintance for help to commute from point A to point B is I don't patiently wait.

Tall cane grass blocking the view what’s next.

I send other texts as if volume requesting will expedite the process. Someone out there needs to respond because I don't have a car (me! of all Americans) and I'm not schooled on being vulnerable and I have lost aptitude for waiting—doing so patiently, just forget about that, will you? Perhaps when the 24/7 parenting gig ends in several years, patience will return. But I gently suggest that you don't hold your breathe on that one. Might cost you.

Asking locals to help me out certainly did cost me, at first. Excruciating. We have those who don't respond at all and that spends my time pointlessly. The ones who arrive late though—these souls reduce my landscaping earnings. What you thought I earned money as a writer? (Gotta dream though.) You probably still believe a pot of gold actually exists at the end of Hawaiian rainbows. Note—we have several rainbows occurring, daily. Might wish to reevaluate the potted gold theory.

One late nick caused me to miss an entire day of work and I already paid for landscaping tools that I did not get to use since, you know, I couldn't get to work. Instead, I completed a few chapters for my novel Sweet Spot that is now finished. Finances will need juggling, yet I stayed the course. Simply was not the one I had planned in my ancient self-reliant days.

These are new eras these days called being vulnerable. I'm not sure I'm a fan but I am curious. And I did go landscape simply a day later than planned. One surprise in my newly minted perspective, this not counting on a self-reliant time schedule, is how I frame the word success. Curious factor is that my landscaping day had high laser focus. Acceptance I was in for having the chance to work in any event. Better make the best of serendipity such as a neighbor actually showing up with a truck that could drive several miles outside of town to the million dollar gated property where I prune bright yellow hibiscus flowers. Not having a car might deliver unwitting rewards. Especially qualifying not having a car as a Cadillac problem—entirely one of luxury.

Wide expansive view of North Pacific Ocean on a side tour from Pratt Road.

Given my shifting mindset during the last one month that became two and continues into the third, I coached myself to stay attuned. Maybe the cash register ka-ching was not in working usual hours but a wealthy sale item called gratitude. I got to work at all and that was cool. Gave me some pep in my step while raking, pruning, and weeding under Hawai'i sun and in Kohala winds—mighty each one. Similar take I had when a sobriety sistah agreed to ride-share. We loaded ourselves into her sparkling crystal blue Subaru and she drove towards our women's recovery gathering, an every Saturday morning gig. I'm responsible for making a decent cup of coffee. My own car not required to succeed.

Look at me I thought, cozily relaxing in the passenger seat. My v-monologue (Eve Ensler pun, anyone?) was humming away. See how vulnerable I can be? Self-congratulations continued as I bragged to myself that after one full week in v-mode and I was still living, breathing, and commuting here, there, and everywhere. Simply not at the wheel. A newish freedom this one, having narrowly escaped auto-matic self-reliance, which might construe as life's success freeway. Turns out not effortlessly so or even true. That's when I understood the power of grocery shopping and that salty infused ham hock lentil soup.

After the sobriety meeting, the car-driver friend agreed to visit KTA, a Hawai'i Island grocery store. Continual blessings shifting into drive gear because she can be grumpy and redirect social traffic only her way. She agreed though to the delay in her day. During the five minute brief commute from St. James Church in Waimea to the grocery store, once again I flipped my interior channel to v-mode.

In a silent self-monologue I chatted away. Thank goodness I won't have to walk 40 minutes to the rural countryside grocery store near my house. That trek time is one way. Carrying groceries on the return hike has been keeping me fit these last months, true. And our family dog Bell appears to have trimmed a few pounds from her already thin physique. But I'm a wimp and don't want to walk an hour and a half round trip for a few kitchen edibles. I concluded my pep talk grateful for the food purchases before me, ones bought now and so the dreaded grocery hike is skirted.

When my not-grumpy friend parked the sparkling Subaru in the KTA parking lot, I returned swiftly from this v-mode reverie and brought the b in business as in I meant business: shopping with laser focus. Going entirely full vulnerable mode, I made a plan to shop in this here and now, exquisite Saturday morning for the entire week. Are there people out there who live this way? Existing without a car is making the world seem newish.

View on the return walk home, up hill yet leisurely.

And moving swiftly so as to not jeopardize the Subaru maven's steadily lasting good mood. I didn't want to delay her day. My conscientious shopping that Saturday morning meant crafted bargains found and menu planning—for each one included in the number seven that totals one whole week. When in the passenger seat once again, I bragged that I might even calendar the week's meals, a dinner plan for each evening. Realizing I was taking my self-reliant back, I dropped that idea. Fridge is plenty full of food, abundance enough to be spontaneous and prepare delicious lunches plus dinners each day.

And that's why at 7 a.m. this morning I pulled the dutch oven vat of a pot from the kitchen cupboard and began cooking the ham hocks. These take several hours stewing. One bag of organic green lentils I had soaked in the fridge over night. Later in the morning, I added lentils and ham heavenlies together. Another half hour later the scrumptious of all lunches was done. Standing at my witch's cauldron, I stirred the healthy brew thoughtfully, savoring the wonderful flavors. Halving the vat, a portion to rely on for the whole week and another portion to freeze for future feasting, a conclusion cooked: I could get used to this not driving gig, thank you very much.

Discerning a varied rhythm to the day sans car wheels takes work and these last several months I have volunteered. I'm convinced this is what Pam Grout means in her book Thank & Grow Rich, A 30-Day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy (2016). She praises us, our potential. “The universe needs you to help it expand. We're all asked to bring new things to light. It's holy work, and we're all called” (40). Ham hock lentil soup really does feel holy to me. Relying on help to prepare the food was the new light. And after a pinch of salt and then some ground pepper I smelled a whiff of vulnerability. This food portion is what I had for the week. No dashing around last minute to other recipes. Made me appreciate so much more the cuisine right on the stove top in the very here and now.

Matthew Kelly in Rediscover the Saints—Twenty-Five Questions that Will Change Your Life (2019) also reminds us that driving one's life sans car does not reflect ineptitude or shameful lack of resources. Not a shy one this author, so he goes there. “Set aside your pain and your shame, set aside any negative feelings you have about yourself, set aside any self-limiting ideas that you or others have filled your mind with, and allow God to do what he does best: bring the best out of people” (117). Although Kelly's God wears Catholic garb and mine dresses in casual shorts and flip flops, a picture of how she walks while being god: good orderly direction, a familiar momentum occurs. I strive to listen wholly and holy during prayer ladled soup days, chatting amiably with my spirit guide (god) on how to live in balance.

And strategies on where to begin are what Kelly provides. “Where do you start? With holy moments. Just start creating holy moments. One today. Two tomorrow. Six next Thursday. The world needs changing: everybody knows that. But we need to stop looking for worldly solutions to our spiritual problems. Holy moments are the answer” (117-118). I'm not one hundred percent sure, but this call-to-action sounds like I'm making lentil soup into future weeks too. Holy holy, I'm on a cooking and acceptance roll.

What keeps me curious as we steer this way into joy by consciously gear-shifting away from materialism is the word shame. Why has Grout selected shameless gratitude for words in her book title? A renewed discovery in my life confirms that living simplicity in American culture can resonate as shameful. Who am I to say no to what is expected—a mortgage, several cars in the driveway, and visible wealth as having followed through on consumerism “success”? Most likely one reason (many exist, clearly) why Kelly advocates that we simply set aside our shame. Americans living off grid from traditional cultural mores, thriving in myriad social and demographic variables, can experience shame, having ignored consumerism's call.

Rural path has been paved and graveled and left to earthy health on the main Pratt Road soil.

Shame has a sensibility that upon first waking in the morning you are “wrong.” And thus no amount of over striving in consumerism land will balance the day. Spiritual equilibrium is absent from the morning on. During my coming out as lesbian cycles—sometimes more out and other times not—certainly I experienced foundational shame like this. And economics can influence identity creating also, for sure. Thankfully today elements of shame are entirely absent when I wake up each day, saying hello to my valuable self, and treasuring that I live a life of simplicity. I continue living an abundance of self-care in these days, weeks, and years because I'm vulnerable enough to provide the very best richness—frugal materialism and wealthy holy—in my living environment. And explains why my “shame” was on a nanosecond level when I sat in the car I have driven for these last ten years on Big Island, the 2003 Pontiac Vibe.

In the carport where the auto has resided, I am sitting behind Mauna Kea's steering wheel after a long two+ month hiatus. A local woman I have known lightly over the years stands peering into the engine. The car's hood is up so I cannot see her. My 14-year-old teenager son sits on a short chair watching her, having visibility to see what she is up to. Any project on uncertainty—all the trials and tribulations—I include the teenager in our family. That life has complexity is a healthy message to recognize early. The car works mostly while I idle the gas pedal best I can. Yet the engine stalls. Kaput. Dead. Nothing. But then the accurate distribution of gasoline happens and the Vibe is working. I'm elated!

Alas, the car stalls again and quits working. When I exit the driver seat and walk around to the front, I realize I've been played. The woman adjusted the idle cord to regulate gas well, for only a moment. And my son watched the moment. For a flea hop of a nanosecond I felt shame. And then flick away the sensation I did, being so empowered on intuition. Next I felt proud that I don't have unaware shame any more.

My guesses had been several “mechanics” bringing intentional influence, the kind that makes cars not operate. Over these last weeks, I cultivated acceptance. Why the sabotage? Who knows and the real point being my work to gently move into holy moments. How many have been baked, stewed, fried, and sauteed in the kitchen as a result. Thank you, car wreckers. Plenty lentil and ham soup leftovers if anyone wishes to join for lunch.

We call this progress not perfection in sobriety land and I will say the progress feels fantastic. One aid to this life is an expansive point of view described in Brene Brown's book Daring Greatly, How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (2012). This 2024 holiday season buy yourself a magnificent gift; please read this book, a definitive work on how shame operates in lives, thus a life changer.

I felt pride that the teenager young male I am parenting could watch his middle-aged lesbian Mama experience a hurtful prank—and not take the process shamefully personal. What a cool process, a gathering of holy experiences to portray vulnerability's picture. My grumpy yet graceful way to accept the new norm—a time period without a family car—was what my son got to see.

Later that day when dinner was set at the table, we shared a few laughs over the auto debacle. In the big picture, intentional difficulty has arrived to my life for several years, da kine holy opportunity to select vulnerable while moving through one misadventure after the next. My son now knows his truest Mama. Grateful that I have been earning respect long before the family car was done broke. So much better to enact our values rather than an impromptu lecture. Youth learn better this way.

I won't be driving Mauna Kea any more. That decision closes a decade long chapter in my life. Purchased in January 2015, and driven to many-many diverse locales on Hawai'i Island, she was an explorer's best vehicle. What amazing utility she always had. Until the end. And now I celebrate recollections, hundreds of memories that remain forever on a praising level—thank you, Vibe car, for years of gracious service. I'll be moving on now experiencing shameless gratitude and unabashed joy as I roll forward in life on my own two feet.