Something about the woods here always makes me recede into my thoughts. Staying inside too long makes me feel like I’m in a cage. As I didn’t have a balcony last year, I often descended the stairs to a landing between the 2nd and 3rd floor, where I could think in peace. There I could watch cars pass on the street below and breathe in as much fresh air as I needed. Now, I find myself drifting to our little balcony when my mind wanders, but it’s still wrapped up in the confines of the apartment. When the balcony can’t ease my unrest, I go to plan B. Driving.
If you’re a fan of the TV show Supernatural, you’ll understand what I mean when I say my truck and I have a profound bond. (and in case you were wondering, I ship Destiel. It is most definitely a thing!) Every drive is an adventure, even if it’s across the highway to wreck havoc on Walmart. It’s hard to match the elation I feel when I drive, especially when I’m alone. I usually turn the volume as high as it will go, because it makes me feel cozy and surrounded by my favorite music. That phrase “so loud I can’t hear myself think” doesn’t apply in this situation, for some reason. See, this moment is where my best inspiration comes from. It’s like the combination of the road flying by and the blasting lyrics releases all the pent up thoughts and worries in my brain.
Now that you understand my therapy methods, we can dive into the gorey details. My therapy began last year (obviously) when I didn’t need to drive as much as I did back home. I was helped to discover the winding back roads and freedoms of our town, and I used them frequently. Then, I left for the summer and I welded the door to the fidgety 18 year old shut. I abandoned my “aimless drives” as my roommate would call them, honestly, because I no longer needed them. I went out more than before, I found my own peace, and I thrived.
In a town so small, everywhere I turn I’m thrown into a memory. Cars I don’t know take my mind to another time. I make turns in intersections then immediately look in my rear-view mirror for that familiar figure, just in case they might be near. The more errands I run, the more I’m drawn to the back roads to stay out a little longer. My brain scolds me with thoughts of my dwindling bank account and the needle that drifts closer to ‘E’ every time I turn on the engine. My heart needs to fly. I need to watch the towering trees pass in a blur. I need to feel speed. Most of all, I need to feel connected. I don’t think I’m ready to admit what to. The emotions, the suffocation associated with my trips was buried so deep, and with my return it’s slipping out like smoke.
It’s part of my Wanderlust, and one day it will be satiated. For now I battle with life. And small spaces. Did I mention I’m claustrophobic?