Connection, Art, Stillness and Frustration: What I Learned in Santa Fe
Or, How to not lose your sh*t when you can't get into your rental car
Beep, beep. The faint sound chimed from somewhere under the hood. Beep. Each time I pressed the “unlock” button on the key fob and desperately yanked at the door handle (Beep) and each time the door remained firmly in place, locked with no obvious opportunity for entry.
We were in Santa Fe for my wife’s fortieth birthday. Our daughters were at summer camp for a couple weeks, which offered us an excellent chance for a few days get away. And the time was beautiful, until the last morning of the trip, when I discovered our rental car key fob would no longer open our rental car. And in case you’re wondering, no there was no valet key in the fob to allow us to manually unlock the door.
But that’s getting ahead of ourselves, so first, the good.
Connection
I first went to Santa Fe a couple years ago for a writing retreat, and while there met a local writer. We’ve stayed somewhat in touch in the intervening years, and she and her husband met Jill and I for lunch on the first day. I’m realizing how much connection, quality connection, means to me and it was such a treat to kick off the treat with depth and authentic connection, and also some great Mexican food. This is intentionally vague because they didn’t sign up to be in a Substack piece, but felt worth writing about, so here we are.
Take-away: send the text, reach out, make time for connection. Even if you think they’re too busy, even if it’s been a while, even if you only have time for lunch or coffee. Who knows what new or old spark might be lit for you, for them, for both of you?
Art
Depending on which ranking system you look at or who you ask, Santa Fe is either the 2nd or 5th largest art market in the US. That’s saying a lot for a relatively small town, population wise. Highlights were the Georga O’Keefe museum, International Folk Art Museum, and wandering the galleries on Canyon Road. I didn’t know much about O’Keefe, other than she was well known for painting flowers. But to see the range of her work gave me a new appreciation for art and the ways it allows us to literally view the world through someone else’s eyes.
“I thought I could find someone to tell me how to paint a landscape, but I never found that person. They could tell me how to paint their landscape, but not mine. I had to set down and try.”
- Georgia O’Keefe
Take-away: There’s a lot of art out there—written, painted, and otherwise—and yet you’re you. There’s a million ways to do the thing you want to do and probably even more opinions, but there’s only one you. Do it your way. Sure, pick up some tips where helpful, but if you’re waiting for someone to come along and anoint you to do your thing, it’s never going to happen. Unless you’re on an ordination track and then you know what you need to do anyways, so why are you reading this?
Attachment
A hot air balloon ride was on Jill’s bucket list, and since we were in New Mexico it was a good chance to check it off the list. So, we woke up before 5 a.m. Friday morning (something we don’t often do on vacation) and ventured out to some public lands with Clo, an amiable, if a bit curmudgeonly, balloon pilot originally from France, and Johnny, a west Texas ranch owner who looked straight out of an old Western movie if the Western had hot air balloons instead of horses. The two had been flying together for over forty years, which was pretty impressive.
The flight was incredible, but I confess I was nervous ahead of it. I’ve been afraid of heights since I was a kid, and somewhere in early adulthood I decided I would try to push myself to height exposure to take at least some of the edge off heights’ sting. But still, when I’m at the top of a skyscraper like Willis Tower in Chicago, I get sketched out. Especially if there’s a clear bottom observation deck—I did it, but it’s not for me. I tried to play it cool, but scurried back to “solid” floor as quickly as I could.
So, I was shocked when other than a few butterflies prior to lift off on the balloon, I wasn’t scared in the slightest. You’d think hovering a few hundred to a thousand feet over the desert would’ve left me cowering in the corner of the basket, but for whatever reason, I was fine. We asked Johnny about that at the closing ceremony for the flight, and his explanation (apparently from a psychologist) was: when you’re on a balcony high up, the balcony is attached to the building and the building is attached to the ground. Your brain is geared for survival so it senses any potential risk and alerts you to it; hence the fear. But on a balloon, you’re not attached to anything (other than the basket). And since the flight is pretty smooth, it’s often hard to tell if you’re forty or four hundred feet in the air, the brain can’t quite adjust. And this lack of attachment generally means less fear.
I don’t know if it’s scientifically legit, but I really liked Johnny’s take on it. And another guy on the flight that morning mentioned he was scared of heights but was completely fine in the balloon. So for this n of 2, the theory holds.
Take-away: fear comes from attachment. That thing you’re thinking about doing, but kind of terrifies you because it would push you way out of your comfort zone and into a no man’s/woman’s land? It’s all because you’re attached to something: either the thing you’re scared to let go of, or the idea of how life will look (likely bad in your imagination) if you detach, take the leap (or hop in the metaphorical balloon) and go for it. Can’t relate? Just me? That’s ok, I’m writing this for me anyway.
Stillness and Silence
I love traveling with Jill. I’m a pretty big fan of hers all around, but having shared so much life together, we’re impeccable travel companions and pack our itineraries to the gills to maximize our time in whatever new city we find ourselves. So, it was surprising when we took most of the day Thursday to chill. We ventured out to Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs and spent most of the midday trying out their various hot soaking pools (arsenic, iron, soda) and even a mud area. It was a stark contrast to the normal go-go-go, and honestly, I loved it. Between chilling in one of their hammocks and walking the labyrinth, it was a very peaceful (and silent) day. Silent because whispers were encouraged and signs reminding us to “Respect the tranquility” were posted all around. Employees even walked the grounds occasionally with “Please Whisper” signs.
Later on, Jill had a massage and I had some free time, so I ventured to the Upaya Zen Center for their 5:30pm Zazen sit. I’ve been meditating on my own for a few years now, but have never had the chance to sit in person and I’ve been curious about some retreats, so this was a great chance to try a snack size of both. I stuck out like a sore thumb as the only person not in black or navy (I wore a gray t-shirt and blue pants), but most other folks had their own Zen fit. Thankfully the leader offered me a meditation cushion and showed me where to sit. And then we sat for twenty-five minutes of silence in the rectangle temple with a skylight in the middle and no other illumination. The dark wood floors, black cushions, and black on most of the meditators really took away from any distraction, other than those pesky thoughts.
They broke up the sit with ten minutes of walking meditation, which I thought about joining, but then realized it was pretty well choreographed so I figured I’ll study up and try again sometime in the future. So, I sat for the walking portion and the second twenty-five-minute seated portion. I did have to switch from the cushion to the kneeling bench to save my ankles. It brought other pain later in the sit, but I was pretty proud of myself for choosing me even in a very foreign context where stillness was the order of the day. A younger version of me wouldn’t have had the guts. I was so relaxed that my Oura ring thought that time was a nap. I can promise you I might be ok, but there’s no way I can fall asleep (and stay asleep) seated upright.
Take away: Get some silence in your life. It doesn’t have to be a spa day or an hour long zen session. Just a few minutes in the morning before everything gets going, or in the evening after the chaos, or just a couple in your car before heading home from work. We’re inundated by sound and inputs in this modern life. It doesn’t have to be fancy or over-thought, but some silence will allow you a chance to start to listen inside again, and even if there’s not a profound insight day one, at least you’ll get a break from the noise.
A Lot of Frustration
Ok, so we’re back. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And if you skipped the rest to read this, you’re forgiven.
Scene re-set: the key fob won’t unlock the rental car. Thankfully we were at the hotel and not at some remote trailhead, but still not an ideal situation. My first thought: the battery must have died. So I asked the hotel if they had any, no luck. But hey it’s 2025, let’s Instacart those suckers to us. I felt pretty good in the intervening couple hours. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but we had already decided to chill at the hotel until our flight so we weren’t missing out on anything and the fix would be here soon.
Except, when the batteries arrived and I successfully swapped out the old one, the car continued to not respond to the clicker, except for that nice little beep. The beep seemed to be mocking me: “I see you trying out there, but you’ll never get in here, dummy.” Ok, maybe that was just in my mind, but still.
So, then continued a now more feverish flurry of calls to every Avis number I could find. Plus, internet searches for how to reset a Mazda key FOB after replacing the battery. Unfortunately, all these require an ability to start the car, which wasn’t happening from outside the car. And so the day went. A number of calls and unsuccessful attempts to make it through the robo-messengers (more like Guardians of the Rental Car company) at different 1-800 numbers. I felt like a character in a Fredrik Bachman novel and could understand why they so readily resort to calling folks “idiots.” And then a breakthrough, a person on the phone. Only to discover that if I took the keys back to the airport and left the car at the hotel, I would be abandoning the car and who knows what that would mean in terms of charges.
And in the midst of all this, I could see myself getting frustrated, and understandably so. Maybe that seems like a small thing, but in the midst of all the unanswered calls and typing my confirmation number in for the fifth time in a row, I could catch the frustration (and maybe some anger). I realized that it wouldn’t change anything to get angry or frustrated. And I still got a frustrated, even knowing that last bit, but it was more like play-acting. There was one dramatic flourish of a moment when I said aloud to no one but Jill who was in earshot, “this makes me never want to go anywhere ever again.” So, there’s that.
But, I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to get into the car, and accepted the fact that it would have to be towed and that I’d deal with whatever happened after all that happened, which wasn’t then. Even though it ruined a chunk of the waning hours of our trip, I finally rallied with a little help from a guided meditation. The situation still sucked and as I write this I’m still not confident that the car got to its destination, but I do know the tow truck showed up.
So, here’s to the payoffs of meditation and mindfulness, both in the long-run and in those acute moments of stress and anxiety. And here’s to not letting a few bad hours ruin what was a really beautiful trip. The next time you rent a car, make sure the valet key’s in the FOB; unlike Lavar Burton, please take my word for it.
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Your turn: what are you learning lately? Any fun/frustrating rental car stories to share? Let folks know in the comments.
Love!