Twenty years ago, when I first had my license and my world was falling apart, I drove around and around New Jersey for hours at a time. These were not just the days before GPS, they were the days before I was smart enough to worry about getting lost or stranded. All I needed was a full tank of gas and my radio; I was accountable to no one. I drove and drove and drove. Sometimes, I cried. Other times, I sang.
I drove, and I thought, and my thoughts were bleak. But it was (and is) better to think dark things while doing something. Pondering without action has always been dangerous. Driving is one of the very few things to which I can truly devote my full attention. It shuts parts of me down, and makes other parts more alive.
Driving also gives me a voice -- a singing voice that I use nowhere else. Even if I am alone at home, I never sing. What is it about a car?
My life is different now than it was in my early driving days. I have a cell phone, a house, and responsibilities. Gas prices are higher than they once were; dogs have to be fed at a certain time. "Driving nowhere" isn't as exhilarating or liberating as it once was; in part, it's because I know there are someones waiting.
But today I drove, and I sang. It was the first time in a long, long time, and I was too loud to hear my thoughts.
