I know, it's weird, right? But hear me out. When I get in my car, I feel like I'm in my own sanctuary. It's just me. No one to answer to, no responsibilities, nothing. Just me and whatever music I feel like listening to. I can somewhat let myself fall into autopilot, which gives me the chance to let my mind wander in a way that I can't normally. And it's in that pure, stream-of-consciousness, would never make sense out-loud kind of thinking. In the span of an hour, I jump between half a dozen different trains of thought. And it's WONDERFUL.
A couple days ago, I mentioned that I quit swimming in high school. What I didn't mention was how I went about the quitting process. I conveniently left out that story because, frankly, it doesn't make sense to a lot of people. But I'm going to take this opportunity to try to explain myself. By the time my senior year of high school had started, I had been swimming on a summer team for the last 11 years, and on more competitive year-long team for 8 years. My life was swimming. All anyone knew of me was that I was a swimmer. And I loved it.
The problem was that I wasn't very good. I would dutifully put in my two hours of swim practice every day, I would give 110%, I would work on my stroke technique, but none of it made me swim any faster. Do you know how frustrating it is to work hard at something, only to see yourself fail? Trust me when I tell you that it sucks. So, I decided that I wanted out. Except here's the thing: people in my family don't quit. It's unacceptable. You make a committment to something, you stick to it. That's just how it goes. (Honestly, though, I think that even if my family wasn't like that, I would still hold myself to that standard.) So, instead of doing the mature thing and talking to my parents and coaches about what I was going through, I took the avoidance route: I started skipping practice. GASP!
Now, if this were an E! True Hollywood Story, or Rehab with Dr. Drew, this is the part where you find out that the kid started doing drugs and drinking with shady characters who ride motorcycles and have tattoos. But you forgot that we were talking about me, Miss Goody Goody. I would never even consider doing something illegal like experiment with drugs or alcohol. No, instead, I would head out the door with my swim bag, get into my car, and drive around all the back roads out in the county. I would wind around the curves and climb up and down the hills and listen to music and just be. It was the most free feeling I have ever experienced.
Of course, it only took about two weeks for my mom to clue into the fact that I was skipping swim practice. (A side effect of being a goody-goody is that I am a terrible liar.) I was immediately grounded--a completely foreign concept for me to grasp, sadly enough. And I remember being asked what I was doing while I was supposed to be at practice. At first, I lied (again! Man, once you get me started, I can't stop. I guess I had officially turned to the dark side) and said that I would go hang out with friends. Because even I knew that it was weird to just want to drive around by myself. Indeed, when I finally copped to my late-night drives, my mom looked at me like I was crazy. I have tried to explain it to my mom, my dad, my boyfriend, a friend or two, but no one ever gets it. To them, driving is a chore. But to me, driving is my release.
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