The 5 stages of emotion when forgetting your purse on a road trip in a snowstorm

Based on the title, we already know what happened.I was heading to Big City Big Lights, a two-hour drive away, to do a few corrections for the audiobook version of Dear Paris. I was nervous because I needed to download the instructions onto the ol' iPad before I left the house, had to rehearse how to correctly say Hieronymus Bosch, Anne Marie d'Orléans, beatification and other errors of judgment I included in the manuscript in the first place.The roads were bad. Snow ahoy.Now, having lived in California, I've had a lot of practice at driving fast in tight situations. I have less experience with slow and steady in snow, so I was nervous about that as well. I left early, reasoning that I would drive slow and if I was there very early, I'd grab lunch.Halfway there, I noticed my purse was not along. And this moment is where we shift into survival mode.1. Turn back? If I went home to get my purse, I would be very late. This was to be about an hour of recording. Was this worth it?2. Take inventory. I looked at the gas. I had enough to get there and back. I had a half-eaten apple from my daughter in the backseat. Also half frozen. Bottle of water. I would forge ahead.3. Map out contact points. As the snow continued to whip around the car in impressive drifts, I mapped out who I could find if I needed help: Uncles, aunts, friends... people I could count on to be cool with me showing up at their front door unexpectedly during a pandemic lockdown so I could ask for money, food, and maybe a bed.4. Go Zen. I'd forge ahead and think about how to solve problems if they became problems. I remembered a moment when I was close to burnout at my job in LA. I was driving to work and was about to turn onto the road toward work. But what if I didn't turn. What if I kept going? I had water, a yoga mat, gym clothes, a wallet. I could go for DAYS. I could sell my car at a dealership near an airport and just... go. But I didn't have my passport. And if I never returned to my apartment, other people would have to sort through my mess. So I turned up that road, went to work, came home and began sorting through my mess. (I suppose this moment is the prequel to Paris Letters)5. Talk with ghosts. I consulted dead grandparents and asked them questions, requesting guidance and extra traction. They answered. All seemed quite calm in the car, when minutes earlier it was filled with the stench of my anxiety.In the end, I arrived, did the recording, repeatedly mispronounced words, thereby flummoxing the sound guy who was patient and kind (he probably had HIS wallet). Soon I was back in the car heading home. Five hours of driving. One hour of recording. One glorious tank of gas. One half eaten apple that I did, in fact, finish eating. And one finished audiobook. Praise the Lord, I was home.Hear a clip...PS If you like reading random thoughts about snowstorms, ghosts, and my errors in judgment, subscribe to the list. Freebies will also be doled out like cupcakes at a kiddie party.