Today was more difficult than it was scheduled to be, so I drove. I drove to regain my peace, to think and to feel comforted by the wind in my hair.
The car has always been a fixture in my life. A symbol of dreaming when my mom would take us in the car with her sister and my cousins. We were HGTV on wheels in the 70s and 80s, looking at houses and dreaming out loud about things that we liked and wanted in our own, when we grew old enough to have them.
In a car, I felt happy. I felt happy to go wherever we were going or to go nowhere at all. I sat at attention as we’d go see family, and to this day I can take certain roads and tell the exact stories my dad would tell as we cruised in our living room on wheels.
The telltale sign of deceleration and gravel stirring me awake when we got home–the idling and ignition ceasing–the sound of keys and my mom’s voice waking us fully to trudge inside the house.
Barely getting ready for bed and then rushing into dreams the moment my head hit the pillow.
I drove tonight to ease my mind from the day–from the noise of people who could care less as they nestle inside fully functioning spaces to prepare for tomorrow.
I needed to find my plan.
So I drove.
And as the lights walked backward upon the windshield and the night air brought me back to my senses, I found my center and am home again.