The Safety Box and the Switch

 Herself speaks.

Sometimes, I feel sorry for my car.

I have many things to do. House things, volunteer work things, family things, work things. I do a fair amount of running around. One of the few times that I have a moment to myself, is when I am moving from Point A to Point B during my day: in other words, when I am in the car. It's a rare time of reflection, when I can contemplate the thoughts or feelings that I have suppressed due to lack of opportunity to allow them the proper space for air. And unfortunately, the thoughts and feelings that surface are, inevitably, the hard ones. Especially if the drive is long and the road is quiet. 

There are the ones that make tears come to my eyes. Or -- thinking of you, bar exam -- rip a scream from my throat. Or drag a wordless wail of sorrow from the depths of my soul: the pain of loss, the grief of knowing that I cannot have simple things that I long for. Only in the confines of the four walls of my car, alone, with the buffer of the wind surrounding me and the highway rushing past, am I safe to let go. 

My car has heard so much. I am sorry, car. No one should have to listen to that kind of human noise.

Inevitably, I arrive at my destination, and my moment to myself ends. There are likely People at my destination, and obligations, and things to do. 

Time to flip the switch. Turn off the Feelings. Dry my face, leave the safety of the box, and enter the world once more. Composed. Ready. 

We do what we have to do.