July 27th, 2021

An Ode to Grandpa’s Two-toned ’78 Ford F-150
How Jump-starting a Battery Taught Me to Conquer Fear

​It was a perfect spring day, and I’d just finished a short hike in a perfect spot with my perfect (well, almost perfect) dog. The perfect dog and I hopped in the car, and I searched my playlist for the perfect song to fit the mood. Although our country’s still in crisis on so many levels, I was feeling more hope than I’ve felt in, well, more than a year. The song needed to be right. And because the past hour had been perfect, the first song that popped up was perfect too: Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come.” 
 
I pushed play, and a Motown-infused orchestral arrangement streamed out through the open windows. Cooke’s sweet voice, touched with gravel, was the perfect match for his lyrics, a reminder that despite so much unrelenting sorrow, somehow, hope remains. As his mellifluous tenor soared to the high notes where he acknowledges life’s been too hard, hope washed over me. 
 
But the long absence of any sort of hope made its sudden return jarring, jolting me from the fleeting reverie. Instead, I thought, we’re fighting the same battles we’ve been fighting for millennia—will they ever, really, end? And if we can’t win the big battles, what’s the point of fighting the small ones? 
 
My subconscious nudged me, perhaps wanting to restore the all-too-brief sensation of blissful hope or maybe just wanting to lighten the mood: Have you forgotten that only a few hours earlier, you conquered something that’s frightened you since you were a child? Hmm, funny, I had indeed forgotten it already, even though it was momentous. Now you might be thinking I was afraid of “normal” things like spiders, snakes, bugs, etc., which are all good guesses. However, you’d be incorrect. I was afraid of…
 
Jump-starting a dead battery. 
 
If you’re asking why, and you probably are, I don’t know why, exactly. I suspect my father or grandfather was leaning over a car or truck or tractor engine, with another vehicle pulled alongside, and a very young me ambled up to inquire what they were up to. Most likely they looked down, gave a brief lesson about dead batteries, and warned me to keep away in case the battery exploded. Being a rule-follower, the warning stuck—although more than a bit too tightly. 
 
The good news is that once I was old enough to drive, there was almost always someone around who would take care of jumping the occasional dead battery––and enabling my fear. At some point in my relationship with my now-husband, he gave me a AAA membership, which he’s renewed every year since. Of course, these days, most cars and batteries are quite reliable, so between their reliability and trusty AAA, my battery-jumping fears were kept to a minimum. 
 
That reprieve ended in 2018 when I purchased my beloved late grandpa’s vintage truck, with all its vintage parts, and the old fear became an almost-every-week occurrence. But once again, someone else stepped in to take care of the problem—my teenage son, who loves the old truck almost as much as I loved my grandpa. My husband taught our son how to safely jump-start the battery, which I observed from a safe distance. Indoors. And despite the fact I’ve replaced that truck battery five times in fewer than three years, and my mechanic swears there’s nothing draining it, the battery works only when it feels like it. Which isn’t often. My son went off to college last fall, so I again relied on AAA or enlisted my husband to manage the jump-starting process. I’m married to someone who can jump a car battery and can fix just about anything, which is both useful and annoying. 
 
So on this perfect spring day, before I’d set off on my perfect hike, I thought I’d take the truck out for a Sunday drive. Of course, the battery was dead. My husband declined my request to “help” me jump the battery, directing me instead to Google, saying, “Isn’t it about time you learned how to do this yourself?” 
 
Peeved, I took my laptop outside and glared at the battery lurking under the raised hood. With an exasperated sigh, inaudible to the spouse hiding indoors, I plopped down on a bench to watch videos and read how-to guides. They all gave conflicting advice. As I felt my blood pressure reach new heights, I picked one guide that seemed authoritative, took a deep breath, and began following the steps. 
 
At a critical point, which means I was holding my laptop with one hand and attaching unwieldy battery cables to the terminals with my other hand, the spouse emerged, now eager to assist. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he inquired. I suggested he return to his comfortable indoor lair. He declined and instead stayed for the show, offering commentary that I ignored. 
 
A few minutes later, all the cables and connections were as the guide outlined. I cranked up my everyday car, let it run for the time specified, then cranked the truck. The old engine sputtered twice, then died. I tried again. The engine gave a single weak sputter, then died. On my final try, the engine was silent. Nothing happened.
 
Nothing happened. 
 
Nothing happened!
 
Nothing happened?
 
Why was I so happy? Because the engine and battery from either vehicle didn’t explode. There were no frightening noises, I was still in one piece, and even though the battery was still dead, I was very much alive. And if you have an irrational fear that you’re wrestling, that part about still being alive after conquering your irrational fear is really the most important part.
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​Why was I so happy? Because the engine and battery from either vehicle didn’t explode. There were no frightening noises, I was still in one piece, and even though the battery was still dead, I was very much alive. And if you have an irrational fear that you’re wrestling, that part about still being alive after conquering your irrational fear is really the most important part.

​This was the transformative event my subconscious had nudged me to remember as I sat in my car with my perfect dog on the perfect spring day with the perfect playlist. Once again, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of bliss, and this time it lingered, embracing me in the joy of accomplishment and the joy of conquering the tiny-but-powerful fear that had held me in thrall and dependent upon others.
 
Once again, my subconscious provided answers to my deepest questions. Conquering one small fear gives us the courage to battle another, perhaps more challenging, fear. But if we don’t acknowledge and celebrate those tiny flames of success—giving them the oxygen they need to continue burning––our internal fire may sputter and die.
 
As if that subconscious revelation wasn’t clear enough, the next day, trusty AAA towed the truck to my mechanic, who said the battery, the spark that brings the engine to life, was fine. It was the carburetor, the device that mixes the fuel and oxygen in proper proportions and keeps the engine running, that needed to be replaced.