Recognizing Your Dash Lights
When I started dating a slightly older but incredibly handsome man, I also welcomed three teenage kids. With three different schedules taking them to completely different places at exactly the same time, one thing became clear immediately: these people needed to learn to drive - and soon!
I’ve made it my personal mission to get our teens driving quickly, safely, and confidently, so I made sure they had experience with every one of the elements. Rain? Check. Snow? Yep. Night? Not a problem! But here’s one I’m struggling to get support with: dash lights. A teenager is somehow immune to check engine lights. My son once drove for literally weeks with his emergency brake on because, “How was he supposed to know what that light meant?”
Friends, when I see a bright orange light behind my steering wheel, I panic. I have had to pull off of major thoroughfares in the NYC area for car breakdowns, and I never want to be in those situations again. Overheating on the LIE or a flat tire on a bridge out of NYC can cause life-threatening danger. I’ve worked in nonprofits for decades and have driven beaters into the ground. The cascade of lights from Check Engine to Oil to Temperature is one I know well.
So that orange light? Whether I recognize it or not, it gets my attention. I pull my car into a reliable mechanic in moments when I see it. Here’s what I am not great at: finding the dash lights that alert me when trouble is afoot under my own hood. I think we all have signals - some small and some big - that say, “Hey dude, something serious is happening, and you need to address it.”
For me, these are simple, and my breakdown is always the same. In the early stages, my car gets messy. I stop cleaning off my laptop’s desktop. I don't organize my download folder. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed, but I won’t admit it.
Then, it gets bigger. I realize I’ve stopped cooking meals in favor of expensive and less healthy takeout. I skipped a shower. I’ve forgotten to pick up my daily maintenance medicine from the pharmacy.
Sooner than I’d like, I’m realizing my eyes are puffy and circled in gray. I stop working from a to-do list and start moving from task to task in a panic. And then auto-immune symptoms flare up, and I begin to fall apart.
From the first moment I feel too tired or distracted to move papers from my car to my house, I know I’m over-tapped. I know I need to rest and talk and heal. If I do those things, I may be able to stave off what comes next, but I haven't always been able to make this switch.
It’s not that the car, or the shower, or the download folder are important on their own. While they help me clear my head and give me space for more important creative work, they aren’t an end in themselves. Instead, they show me that I’ve begun to choose a beat of rest now over a moment of clarity later. Essentially, I’m borrowing my future peace and health at high interest, and I may never pay myself back.
When recovering from a concussion and working with a cognitive therapist, I learned about the concept of mental batteries. The principle is that we all have short- and long-term mental batteries that recover at different rates. While recovering from the concussion, my batteries recharged a little slower than I was used to. I hated it. I have always worked hard, and I know what I am capable of. My healing brain had a different view of the situation. To avoid a constant depletion of my batteries, I had to force myself to take time to recharge them. It forced me to be intentional about my personal dash lights.
Your dash lights may be completely different. Your breakdown may look different. But it's worth asking. What are the early signs your body and mind give you that you're moving toward breaking down? How can we both listen better today?
