Driving Home

The light turns green, and I slowly lift my foot off the break. My hands slide to the lower side of the steering wheel; the texture on my hands soothes me. This ride south on 22nd feels like sailing, especially when songs like the one that starts playing sail away with me. Let me tell you about this moment, Elena.

Ceilings, plaster. Can’t you just make it go faster? Lizzy sings. Her words hum in my ears; I notice how my muscles relax and my breathing slows down. I wonder (hope) if she wrote these lyrics and felt every single word.

I secretly love these moments on my own—Driving home with music that makes me pause and pay attention to the many thoughts that get busy with each other when I’m busy with reality. These tunes make me enter that room inside my head, and tonight, I hear myself talking to you. Do you like music the same way I do? Do you have a favorite song to play while you drive? Does it make you notice your thoughts? I hope you do; I hope it does.

I love every second of my day devoted to you. Whether we’re playing hide-and-seek with the sliding box or once again asking if that’s our elephant in the book of many textures, I can cook your lunch for the next day or fold your clean clothes. These fractions of time are for you, and I love spending my time this way.

I also love tonight because I’m on my own. I’m not spending these minutes with you or doing something for you, but I’m reflecting on the many things that matter to me. I’m thinking of my week’s plans, drafting this post in my head, and wondering if Lizzy McAlpine has a favorite song she listens to while driving.

Music does this to me, and being alone does it, too. Tonight, when I give my attention to the [now] patient thoughts in my head, I picture you as an adult. I am so curious about your life, your choices, and what makes you laugh until your belly hurts. Do you like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? Do you also need ice in your water at all times? Have I told you about your first birthday weekend yet?

The light turns red, and my foot pushes down gently on the brakes. I ease into a stop as Lizzy keeps on singing.

But it’s over. Then you’re driving me home, and it kinda comes out as I get up to go.

Her voice relaxes me, and I am grateful for this moment alone with you. It almost feels like you’re here, riding in the passenger seat, singing to these lyrics with me.

Do you make time to be on your own, too? What thoughts gather in your presence? Do you give them the attention they deserve?

I hope you do. I hope you do.