Weekend Waffle #23
An ode to road trips
Haven’t seen y’all on a Saturday in a while! And really, I’m still not. I’m writing this on Tuesday afternoon, looking forward to a much, much needed solo road trip this holiday weekend. I’ll be on the road, heading back home, when this goes live. It’s a quick turnaround this time.
Also, before I get into the meat of today’s weekend waffle, the post that went live this past Thursday was officially my 100th post on here! I can’t believe I’ve stuck it out that long. What a fun milestone to hit!
It’s no secret that I love a good road trip, especially if it’s a solo one. In fact, I prefer to drive over fly whenever possible. It’s not just the convenience of having access to your own transportation at the destination (as opposed to working around public transit and Ubers); driving, preferably alone, with a wide open road in front of me represents a level of independence and freedom I chased for so many years.
One of my favorite books released in the 2020s is Matthew Crawford’s Why We Drive: Toward a Philosophy of the Open Road1. Crawford explores how driving in our modern society builds upon the ideas of freedom and independence and our interconnectedness as humans who live in a society. His argument is that driving is a profound expression of human autonomy and agency in an increasingly automated and digitally connected world, and I wholeheartedly agree with his thesis. Yes, I may use Google Maps to get me from point A to point B. Yes, I may rely on Spotify and Apple Podcasts to keep me entertained when I can’t talk to myself anymore. Yes, I may tell my coworkers to call me if anything goes haywire at work and they need me immediately. But, overall, getting behind the wheel of my car in two days means I am g o n e. I am away. I am (relatively) disconnected and just not available in a world that expects constant connectedness.
But driving and the open road goes even deeper for me as a space for personal control and decision-making. For so many years, I was in a relationship with someone who just wouldn’t let me drive. He complained that I drove only 10 mph over the speed limit and that I wasn’t as aggressive as he wanted me to be. He couldn’t stand that I wouldn’t cut people off and preferred to just cruise at 80mph on the interstate instead of weaving back and forth at 100mph causing chaos. And good lord did he hate my music and my one car rule: driver picks the music.
It started small. I would take a day off from work, one where he wasn’t also at home, and explore new areas within the county I live in. First it was a few suburbs south of where we lived. Then it was the rural farmlands just south of those suburbs. Then I went north, and then west, and then eventually east. I grew to rely on speeding through roads lined with orange groves as my escape from a rapidly escalating emotional abuse situation. But these escapes were also dangerous, allowing my moments of suicidal ideation to creep in during the darkest moments. But they were also lifesaving because that darkness told me something was horribly wrong and I couldn’t keep living like this. Driving alone and the open road became an important part of my mental health upkeep, but it stayed small for so many years, not progressing much beyond my immediate area…until 2020.
During lockdown, my county (and every county adjacent) closed nature areas. Not just city parks, but full closures of wide open acres of preserved lands that didn’t draw the crowds city parks see. I remember throwing my pen across the room when I saw a giant preserve I love to hike at was closed with no ETA for opening back up. I knew that our short hiking season in Florida would be far over by the time we were allowed back in. I’ve always loved a good nature walk, but I leaned heavily on hiking in early 2020, before lockdowns were ever part of our vernacular, as my escape from the guilt I laid upon myself from the relief I felt from a miscarriage in January 2020. Hiking kept me from drinking and taking pills I have easy access to from my husband’s needed medications. But I watched as the one thing I found solace in was hastily taken away from me and I was told to just deal with it; there were other people dying, after all. Each passing day I felt the urge to drown my darkness in wine and pills grow larger and larger. I, too, was slowly dying, but you couldn’t see it. My gasps for air were metaphorical, not literal.
By mid-April, after a particularly rough interaction with a customer at a local grocery store2, I knew I had to do something drastic to fight off the darkness. My county and all of the adjacent ones may have closed all of the nature areas, but the county two counties north didn’t. Neither did the next one to the north, nor the one after that. I took advantage of the chronic insomnia I had developed and jumped in my car with my hiking pack one Saturday morning, before the sun rose, and just drove north. I knew where I was going, but I was again venturing on roads I had never once laid a tire on before. The hike was good, but I realized it was the drive that did a lot of the heavy lifting that day. So, I did it again the next week, venturing even further this time. And then I did it again, and again, and again.
By May, the state parks started re-opening and I drove to one north of I-10, quite the haul for someone in central Florida for a little ol’ day hike. The hike itself was too hot and too humid, but the drive was magical.
In June, I drove my car outside of Florida for the first time as my husband and I pieced together what we could of a honeymoon in North Carolina that was forcefully cancelled back in March 2020. My little car went up actual mountains and down into gorgeous gaps. My car could actually keep up with something more than the flatness of Florida, opening my world even more that week.
And then in September, I went on my first Tallahassee solo road trip, now a twice yearly staple in my life.
Driving became my escapism in 2020, much as it had been in 2016. Driving and the untapped potential of an open road became a vital part of my mental health care plan. I jokingly tell people that I get weird when I haven’t had a solo road trip in a while, but there is some truth to that. I haven’t been on a multi-day solo road trip for personal pleasure since January this year, and let me tell y’all that my mental health has been shit, especially with everything that has happened with the whole job thing the second half of the year. I’m no where near as bad off as I was in 2016 and 2020, but I’ve noticed enough to give some credence to the whole “I get weird without enough road trips” thing.
I’ve been so lucky to get out and explore so many new places in 2023. I’ve been to Chicago, to upstate New York, to Annapolis, and to Las Vegas just this year alone, quite impressive for someone who didn’t leave the state at all for like three or four years at one point. I was able to make a Tallahassee weekend happen in January, but I just haven’t had the time to take on another similar trip until now. Chicago was a joint school/work trip. Upstate New York was a job interview. Annapolis was a whirlwind of 36 hours with a mission in mind. Las Vegas was shorter than expected and for a good friend’s wedding. Tallahassee, and now this, have been my only travel plans where I had no plans, just whatever my whims desired. I’m trying to make something else happen during winter break, even if it’s just another Tallahassee jaunt, because I need that time. This year has been a good reminder to not neglect what works for my mental health, because the consequences if I do just aren’t worth it.
It’s not that hard to just take a drive3.
Phew, if you sat through all of that, here’s a link to my tried-and-true road trip playlist. It’s 13 hours of anything that has piqued my interest over the last three years.
I also highly recommend his other book, Shop Class as Soul Craft, which gets into working with one’s hands
The lady who told me I was a selfish monster for daring to buy flowers during a pandemic
I know I say this with the immense privilege of someone with a working, reliable car of my own and time to disappear, so don’t come at me for that. You know what I mean if you’re this far through the post.