When my children were babies, there was a spot on Route 101 that used to terrify me.
It's a majorly curvy section around Dublin Lake which nestles at the foot of Mount Monadnock. It's an absolutely beautiful spot. But the curves can be tricky to negotiate, especially in winter. And the water comes right up to the side of the road.
I would drive by at night in the dead of winter. I would imagine me losing control of the car, going into a skid, and swerving off the road through the ice and into the dark water below.
I imagined terrible scenarios of me struggling to get my babies out of their car seats, forced to make terrible decisions about who to rescue first. I would lie awake at night trying to figure out if I would have time and the strength to get them both out of the car, and wonder whether they would survive the icy waters.
It used to paralyze me.
Later, of course, as they grew older, drives past that lake tended to be more about yelling at them to quit kicking the back of my seat and not to spill their juice on the floor.
Last weekend, my husband cajoled me into going for a dunk in that same spot. We parked by the side of the highway and scrambled down the small incline to the lake. Soon we were standing in ice cold water up to my knees.
That's right. Up to my knees.
That horrible stretch of water that haunted me for years is only about 18 inches deep.
As I lie awake nights now, listening to the fearful voices in my head, I wonder how many of those fears are also only 18 inches deep.
