This summer has been a summer of driving. I was an oddly reluctant teenage driver and didn’t get my license until about a month before I left for college, and so driving for me was until now really more of an occasional thing. It reminds me of nights that I would borrow my mom’s minivan for summer-after-graduation bonfires and of that disconcerting sensation you get during your first college breaks, the feeling of coming “home” but not really. Driving reminds me of sunsets over Lake Erie and the strawberry milkshake that a stranger bought for me at Sara’s the night before I left for Wheaton when I realized I had left my wallet at home. It brings back the wonderful clarity of a hot July evening last summer when I drove home from coffee with friends and realized the road I was on didn’t remind me of anything that hurt.
Driving reminds me of transitions, of the spaces between here and there and letting go and moving on, of (to name-drop myself) the life between breaths. And so it has never really been ordinary. Continue reading