Some people find comfort and solace in long drives with which to clear their heads and hearts, taking time to be alone with their thoughts, or just occupied by a drive to somewhere near. Up until a few years, I was not one of these people. I didn’t ever drive for the sake of driving – I barely drove when it was a necessity (Andy will confirm). But ever since Dad died, and in the weeks leading up to it, I would find myself driving out in Amsterdam and beyond, just to drive. It was like he was with me, and it afforded me time alone – to weep, to pause, to think, to be – in a way you can’t find when other people might be around.
These days, when things are particularly upsetting or I’m feeling extra sad, I get in the car and just go somewhere – the destination is never important, just the act of being in motion, being alone and uninterrupted, is enough. Sometimes I drive to the cemetery. Sometimes I drive along streets my father knew well. Sometimes I’ll let myself get lost in the rural roads that stretch out off the Thruway, always winding my way back to some known marker or place – it’s difficult to truly get lost anywhere today. Not on the roads, at least. In my head, it feels like I’ve been lost for a while, but I’m hopeful that fog is lifting. Maybe I just needed a few dismal days of rain to clear things up, to set me back on my path and salvage what remains of this summer. In the meantime, I’ll be on the road again.
