Day to day we interact, we run about, we do our work. Responsibilities are met, conversations are had, things get resolved, organized, accomplished. We do all of this, day in and day out, regardless of what goes on inside of us. Whether we are in emotional turmoil or celebratory joy, the “things” get done, we honor our familial and social obligations, we punch the clock.
Sometimes it is easy, even quite pleasurable. Sometimes we have to fake it, eke it out any way possible. Fighting the urge to bury our head in our hands, jump for joy, speak our mind or turn and run. We stay, we do, we carry on. We must.
But then we get into our car. Windows up, music on: a haven. A place that, while technically visible to others, is intimately our own.
Here we can scream. We can laugh and sing out loud. We can have a virtual do-over of that infuriating conversation, this time delivering the perfect zinger at the right time. We can talk ourselves down. We can pump ourselves up. We can sob, clutching a hand to our heart.
We can do this in total privacy. Free to feel and express our feelings. There is an unspoken understanding that this is a safe place. We know that whatever exaltation or eruption we are having in our car, there is someone on another road, in another lane, having a similar experience. We are not alone, even while we are blissfully alone.
We pass by other drivers and see them singing, crying, biting their nails nervously. We take note. Then we offer them the courtesy of looking away without judgment. Sure, we wonder what might be going on, what happened to cause this display, but we let it go, send them a well wish and drive on. We return to the sanctity of our own interior, our own release.
We drive and drive and drive. Separate souls headed in different directions, sharing a road and a need to savor a few secluded moments, on any given day, to just.. be…REAL.