Driving Alone

Homeward bound: Route Six in Truemanville.

I don't get many opportunities to drive by myself these days. My husband often drives me in his big, comfortable truck and my mother is always up for a shopping trip so time alone in the car, alone with my thoughts, is a rare occurrence.

Yet twice this week, I've driven by myself. It's been such a busy week, I only had time this morning to write about it, and I'm afraid those thoughts from the road on Monday evening as I returned from a quick but necessary trip to the chiropractor are lost.
But what I remember is this: I wanted to write about how therapeutic it was to have time alone. Most of us live with others and lead very busy lives. There aren't a lot of moments, let alone hours, when someone isn't talking to you. I wanted to write about how driving in the dark on a country closes you in, cocoons you, narrows your focus. Brings you back to yourself. Allows you to breathe, and feel your heartbeat.
Until you crank the tunes and lift your spirits with a good ol' Tom Petty tune. We were runnin' down a dream at just the right time.

Be careful what you wish for: I'm not dreaming about living alone. Monday in the car simply reminded me how rarely I get drive by myself, and how much I miss that.

Spending time alone, whether it's walking the dog or driving in the car, is necessary. There are people who claim they hate to be alone, but it's necessary. Even if for thirty minutes. Alone with one's thoughts. Alone with one's breath.
Deep inhale to a count of eight. Long exhale to a count of ten. That's what got me to town in one piece. Breathing exercises and cruise control.
Sometimes, though, at the end of a shitty day, one doesn't need conversation or time alone with thoughts. One needs familiar songs at a loud volume.
The "Eighties Drive Home" took me back down the road. The way you  make me feel, Michael. 

I used to do a lot of driving by myself. Heck, I drove across Canada by myself; I remember my father wanting to fly out to Vancouver in order to drive home to Ontario with me but I really wanted, really needed to do the trip by myself. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my music.
The tears only last a hour that first morning. The rest of the trip was an amazing experience I shared with my canine companion.
In Ontario, I drove all over visiting friends. I drove myself, and the dogs, to and from Pugwash, Nova Scotia, every summer and fall.
I love a road trip.

Yet last May, when I headed to Ontario by myself, I knew I couldn't be alone with my thoughts. There is so much uncertainty in a freelance writer's life (technically, I'm a freelance worker with no job security) that the anxiety tends to build up, and I knew being alone with my thoughts for two days would reduce me to a quivering ball of doubt and despair by the time I reached my aunt and uncle's house. So I listened to books and made it there and back without a mental breakdown.

Know thyself. Sometimes the worst place to be alone is inside your head.

Theologian Paul Tillich wrote, "Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone."

The pain and the glory.

Yesterday, I drove to Pictou and back for a lunch meeting with an editor; that's ninety minutes each way. On the way down, I chewed away at stuff that was bothering me, and I listened to my go-to CD for angst and frustration and havoc. Being alone in the car meant I could talk to myself, I could listen to my music, I could even talk to people who aren't there -- and say what I want to say without any interruptions!
On the way home, there was no music that suited my mood so I drove in silence, not really thinking about anything, just gazing out the windshield and enjoying the peace of being alone in the car.
Inhale peace.
Exhale calm.
Runnin' down the dream.

Homeward bound: Hwy 104 near Mount Thom.