The Dreaded Dread

Note: In this image, I'm dreading nothing!

Dread-1. to fear greatly; to be in extreme apprehension of 2. to be reluctant to do, meet, or experience. Archaic definition: to regard with awe.

Have you ever woken up and enjoyed a few moments of complete peace and contentment before you remember that dentist's appointment? Until the dread sets in and you reluctantly drag yourself out of bed? Imagine having that feeling the majority of your days. Except it's not a painful root canal or big presentation thats sets your anxiety into motion. It may be a trip to the grocery store, a PTA meeting at school, or even going to your favorite restaurant. Dread has been a daily companion since living in Brazil and quite frankly, it's downright exhausting at times.

For example, today was the first day of my much awaited Zumba class. It seemed like this day would never come, but along with that excitement came the dark side of dread...dread of the drive through Sao Paulo traffic, finding the parking garage, walking in a strange neighborhood, and navigating a entirely new process at a new facility. Six months ago, I would have said forget it. It's not worth it. Today, I pulled my car out of the parking garage at 5 minutes to 10 so I could hit the pavement right as restricted driving lifted, breathed deeply through the bumper to bumper traffic, found the parking garage, hiked it to the gym where I was shown to the class, and danced my bombom off for the next hour. Next week the dread will be less and eventually it'll be gone completely.

If I get nothing else from this stint in South America, it's that fear is meant to be worked through, not walked away from. I've faced fear more these last 15 months than I may have in my entire lifetime. I discovered that for me, fear is rooted in the unknown and in situations where I have no control. So yes, I dreaded going across town today, but I also lessened it by checking out my destination on Google street view so I knew what the parking garage looked like and knowing exactly how to walk to the gym from there. I was as prepared as I had the power to be.

I think I've moved from "to fear greatly" to "to be reluctant to do, meet, or experience". I'm not at the point where I will run out the door with no GPS or drive around just to kill time, but I've come a long way from turning down invitations because a restaurant doesn't have a valet.

There are still occasional dreaded situations, like getting birthday party invites that I know we have to turn down because of this "restricted zone", or having to find a new store or restaurant, but overall the fear factor has gone way down and I've settled into a content routine. I can actually hit the snooze and fall back to sleep instead of being scared awake by the day's agenda.

There are days I long for a "driver" like many other expat wives have. Oh, how nice would it be to be picked up and dropped off at the door. Then I think how far I've come. I'm twice the woman I was a year ago. My confidence has grown, my trust in my instincts is bigger than ever, and there are days that don't feel complete without some big challenge.

I imagine a year from now, the dreaded dread will be gone almost completely and I may move on to "regard with awe" this city I call home. Maybe that is life's journey...from fear, to apprehension, to reluctance, to acceptance, to awe. You just need to face it head on.

Portuguese word of the post- Bombom: butt, as in shake your bombom. Love this word by the way. It's so much cuter than buttocks.

Motoboy Sao Paulo

As most of you know, my Mom just spent some time with us here in Sao Paulo, although in reality, we spent much of our time out of the city. We traveled to the beach and then the mountains. When in the city, we drove from North to South and spent hours in a traffic jam on the way to airport. My Mom didn't seem too fazed by all the crazy traffic, moving through the city streets without rules or reason. It wasn't until our final hours, that she seemed to be concerned....the MOTO BOYS finally got to her. As those of us in cars sat inching along the Marginal and then the Dutra, the Moto Boys zipped between us at normal posted speeds, beep beeping to let the motorists know that changing lanes wasn't advised. After keeping an eye on the side view for an hour or so, Mom finally concluded, that if she had to sit in this traffic day after day, she'd probably drive a motorcycle too. Yes, she too saw the many advantages to being a MotoBoy.

Here are a few that come to mind:

Reason #1- You automatically belong to a club(gang) that will immediately come to your aid should you need defense. Most minor fender benders involving Motoboys go unreported. It's safest just to drive away and pay for the damage they've inflicted on your vehicle.

Reason #2- There are few traffic laws that apply to you. You are able to drive between lanes, hop onto sidewalks, weave through stopped traffic, kick vehicles that are in your way, run red lights, park where ever there's room, turn any direction from any lane. Note: most of these apply to car drivers too, so the smaller the car, the more you can drive like a Motoboy.

Reason #3- You can easily peer into vehicles to evaluate whether there's anything of value or easily accessible to steal. Just point your fake gun to demand the occupant roll down the window and proceed to take what you want, or simply smash the window with your concealed hammer and pick through the glass for valuables. This is why many expats have tinted windows that we don't dare to roll down.

Reason #4 - Being an "ambulance chaser" is a perk of your job. It's your lucky day when an ambulance needs to get through traffic. Just follow behind like a parade procession and make your way through the parting sea of cars. Sadly, the ambulance is often heading to aid one of your fellow gang members who wasn't having such a lucky day.

Reason #5- Real men CAN wear pink... helmets anyway. As a Motoboy, brown isn't the new black, pink is. I'm not sure if this is a fashion trend, a trick to get an edge on your male competition, or if the Motoboy bike shop just a had a clearance sale on pink helmets.

All in all, driving a motorcycle of any kind, for any reason in this city requires a certain crazy gene. You're literally putting your life on the line, in between lanes, and sometimes face down on the pavement. I keep trying to talk my ten year old son into creating a video game called "Motoboy Sao Paulo". That'd be the only way I'd drive through this city without a couple of tons of steel between me and open air.

In a final note, and a little more seriously, I've personally seen three dead Motoboys laying in the road in the time we've lived here. It's really very sad because in reality, these "boys" are working...delivering, messaging, couriering. They have a place here in this busy city and dead in the road isn't it.

Yes, I let them by, fold in my mirrors to give them more room, and check and re-check like a crazy woman before I change lanes. I curse then, envy them, and pray my son never wants to ride a motorcycle, other than the virtual kind. After living here, I don't think I'd be a happy MotoMama in any country.

Portuguese word of the post: "pare"-meaning stop, as on a STOP sign. In reality, a stop sign is just a "heads up" to warn "if someone needs to stop, that person would be you".It's more like, check to be sure it's clear and then GO....fast.