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Gauging Guidance: When to Trust
By Sheri McGregor

Nothing we ever imagined is beyond our powers, only beyond our present self-knowledge.                        
                                                                                       Theodore Roszak

Excited about the prospect of a drive-thru tree, my kids and I pulled up to the tourist stop in the coastal redwoods of California. The man in the booth put down a chainsaw he'd been using to hack away at redwood carvings. He pulled off his goggles and accepted the bills I handed him through the window. "Be sure to fold in your mirrors," he said.

'Just drive on through?" I asked, suddenly uncertain. Fueled by Yogi Bear cartoons where nobody got hurt but the friendly bear, I hadn't considered driving through a redwood tree might be a tight squeeze. My mirrors stuck out like black ears on either side of my Chevy Suburban.

"Just go slow," he assured me. "You'll make it through." He handed me my receipt. "There's a bypass if you get back beyond the gate and change your mind."

"No. We have to drive through the tree," I said, excited. My children and I had stopped here for this very reason, to run our automobile through the oldest drive-thru redwood tree in California. "But are you sure I can get through?"

The man grinned. "Just take it slow." He started to turn back to his cutting then swiveled to remind me firmly, "Just make sure you fold in those mirrors."

"Okay." I drove the car on past the gate, following an arrow into an area where people milled about, enjoying playhouses carved into cut trees. Kids climbed up inside the carved art, and waved from drilled-out windows. The drive-thru tree loomed to the left in the shady, sleepy hollow atmosphere. Six feet from the tree's entrance, I stopped the car, surprised at the narrowness of the tunnel.

"Do you think I can make it?" I asked the kids, who immediately spurred me on. But I wasn't so sure. When the man in the booth had said "go slow," I hadn't figured he meant inch along with precision or scrape up the sides of my car. The tree sat at a bit of an angle on the pavement that ran through it, and it wasn't a straight shot.

I rolled down my window and flipped the mirror flat. My son, riding in the passenger seat adjusted the one on his side. We were good to go. But should we? I'd driven all over the country on my own. I'd wound my way up unpaved roads on twisting mountains I'd have reversed back down if it weren't for other cars behind me---and the cliff gaping below. But this was different. Such a simple thing -- driving through a tree – but not at all what I'd expected.

Idling there before the drive-thru tree, I thought about all our summer road trips, about the decisions I'd made, and the situations surrounding them.

Once, on an unmarked road the map hadn't depicted as so desolate, I waved a car on around me then hollered for them to stop. "Is this the road that heads to. . . ?" I'd asked. "You got it," the driver said assuredly, then sped off in a cloud of dust. Other times, I'd asked gas station managers if my car would fit through the automated wash. And once, on a side trip to Loveland, Colorado to see the place where people all over the world send their Valentines to be postmarked with a special design from the city of love, I had to ask three different women how to get to the freeway before one finally sounded like she knew her stuff.  

Sometimes, it pays not to trust directions.

Lost in a deserted section of a cowboy town with my sister, she stopped the car to ask a trucker near an old slaughterhouse for directions. Grinning, he winked and stepped near. "What can I do for you ladies?" I leaned over my sister's lap and rolled her window to just a crack. "Ladies," he drawled, his face right up to the window space. "There are maps over in the office." He pointed to a small building several yards away. "You pretty ladies come on in there and we'll get you fixed right up."

"Yeah, thanks," I said, stretching to roll her window tight. "Keep on driving," I told m sister.

Now, inching slowly toward the drive-thru tree, I weighed the guidance from the man with the chainsaw in the booth. He probably directed thousands of cars full of tourists through here each year. If my Suburban wouldn't fit, it didn't seem likely he'd have steered me wrong. He wasn't a sleazy looking trucker promising maps in a deserted slaughterhouse. He'd been confident like the driver on that desolate road, and like the third lady we had the heart to trust in Loveland, Colorado. Gauging risk versus benefit, this time, accepting guidance felt right. And I needed more guidance halfway through the tree, without so much as a finger's space between my mirrors and the tree trunk.

A crowd had gathered to watch, sweat beading on their collective brow. I stopped the car, hung my lips out the tiny space between my window and the hollowed out Redwood trunk. "Can I make it?" My voice carried out of the tunnel, reaching the group.. 

"I think so," said a young man, breaking away from the crowd, obviously the only one willing to offer an opinion.

"I can't go back," I told the kids, knowing that in reverse, I'd surely hit the tree. We were almost completely inside the tree trunk now. So with the young man's traffic-control style guidance, with my children watching the inside of a tree with its earthy smell move slowly past their windows, and me craning my neck to judge the distance between my car and the ancient tree, I crept forward and out.  

"Thanks for your help," I called to the young man. And when we parked to explore the redwood carvings and gift shop, several people made comments. "That was tight," said one. "We thought a lawsuit was in the making," said another. A couple who'd been watching said they'd email me a picture they took.

That picture now hangs in my office, a reminder that I can get through even the tightest of situations -- with common sense and guidance from a reliable source. And I can apply this logic to any endeavor. The trick is to use my own ingenuity, gauge others' guidance for it's worth, then accept or reject help based on the source, and intuitive notions which is my body's inherent protection device at work.
---
When to Trust: Tips to Judge Others' Guidance

Consider the source -- Is the individual an expert? Someone you trust? Is it reasonable to believe the individual knows what he or she is speaking of?

Intuition -- In the situation with the trucker at the deserted slaughterhouse, my gut was tightening even as my sister stopped the car to ask for directions. That bodily cue, coupled with the logistics of the situation (a deserted area, an overly friendly man who appeared to have been drinking) made the decision to flee an easy one for me. But when you consider the fact that many women have been taught to be polite, it is evident that throwing gut instincts and logistics out the window often happens. I recommend Gavin DeBecker's book, The Gift of Fear. Also, I learned the hard way to trust my intuition. Hopefully, others won't have to.

Also read my article Empower Your Decision Making Skills with Intuition, which originally appeared in the print version of Real Woman Magazine, and now appears in their online version.

All material on the www.motherswhodream.com website is copyrighted
by Sheri McGregor and may not be reproduced without express permission.