I miss being the passenger in a car some days.
I have always loved watching scenery pass by.
I never mind a bus trip or train trip anywhere,
enjoying it more than a flight.
I just let my mind go as I take in the world
that I am passing through.
The other day I swerved noticeably on the road
trying to finish looking at a house that had
added on or taken down a tree
or some shrubs.
I wasn’t finished looking
and I had to be finished looking.
I was the driver,
in charge of direction and safety and momentum.
I had to look forward.
Sometimes that is tiring.
Sometimes I want to close my eyes
or write something down
or finish thinking through a scene I passed.
Sometimes I don’t want to be in the car.
Sometimes I don’t want to move.
Usually, though, I am happy to drive.
It is the best one-on-one time with my children.
Looking into their minds with what they share.
Looking into their hearts with what they don’t share.
Into their nows and their futures and their pasts.
Helping them by driving them,
literally and figuratively,
with the love to hear and the time to listen.
And when I am alone in the car
I can think
and sing
and wonder
and have a private phone call.
Sometimes, though, I wish that I was in the passenger seat.
My head grows heavy from so much life.
I would like to turn and say,
“I am glad you are driving”
or
“Thank you for driving”
or
I'd place my hand upon the driver that would say both
and maybe more.
Also,
I have never been so happy to be the driver in my life.
