Contentment: Lessons from the Road
11.28.23 | 29205
For reflection:
Is there a place you most associate with contentment? What specific aspects of that place contribute to your contentment there?
Where are you right now? What about this physical place helps you feel content (or contributes to discontentment)?
What places feel most aligned with your identity - your values, priorities, and personality? Do you spend most of your time in these places, or not?
Think about your home. Do you feel content in it? Why or why not? (Think about everything from the physical location (country, town, street, building) you call home as well as the elements inside that make it home).
This weekend, Dominic and I drove to Amherst, MA for Thanksgiving. 15ish hours in the car each way certainly didn’t help my back pain, but it did provide time to truly be with my thoughts. And over the course of the car ride, I came to realize something I didn’t expect: I felt content. In the midst of the discomfort and monotony of the drive, I didn’t have the space to wander. I couldn’t escape the reality of being cooped up. And that actually gave me permission to be present. On the way from one home to another, I learned a few simple lessons.
15 hours is a long time - but it isn’t as long as you think
When we started our drive on Tuesday night, I envisioned the most “girl boss,” productive version of a car ride that I could possibly dream of. I told myself I would read for hours, catch up on emails, and write for The Zip Code Project. It felt like so much time I might just be able to solve all the world’s (or at least my world’s) problems! But then, in the reality of the experience, I couldn’t find the energy or self control to do any of these things. Instead, I talked with my husband. We reminisced about his childhood in Massachusetts, watched I-77 turn into I-81, listened the If Books Could Kill podcast, and sang along to The Wailin’ Jennys together. And before I knew it, the many hours in the car had passed, and we pulled into his parents’ driveway. Being confined to the car for those many hours not only required patience, but it required presence. We had a dog to care for and our safety to prioritize, and the “productive” things fell away. The passage of time and my usual attention to the clock fell away.
We can always control some things (just not all things)
Driving across the country is inherently a hurry-up-and-wait kind of situation. The later the leave, the later you arrive. The more you stop for snacks and bathroom breaks, the less time you spend getting to where you’re going. And so you want to just get on with it – but there is something inherently difficult about sitting in an enclosed space for an extended period of time. I am not someone who struggles with claustrophobia, but I did find myself hoping, at the beginning of our trip, that the time would somehow move faster (surprise, surprise: it didn’t). I wanted OUT. I wanted to leave that tiny car and be somewhere bigger, more spacious, more expansive. I found it difficult, at first, to be comfortable with the fact that I had very little control of the situation. And then, somewhere between realizing I wasn’t actually going to do those “productive” tasks I intended and enjoying the road trip as a fun memory we’d reminisce about later, I accepted the fact that time moves at the pace it moves. No faster, no slower. If I wanted to even remotely enjoy the trip, I would have to put some intention into enjoying the present moment. And somewhere in that series of events, I realized I was no longer watching the clock so intently. I was no longer looking at the map so frequently. Instead, I chatted and laughed with my partner, snuggled our dog, and admired the view out the window. I realized that I could control the way I responded to the reality of our situation, even if I couldn’t control the pace of time.
Community makes the world go round
Somewhere in the middle of Virginia, Dominic and I found ourselves in a deeper conversation about the state of our lives, our goals and dreams for the future, and all the little ways we hope to work toward those dreams. Then, some a**hole drove unsafely near us, and we took a sigh of relief as we came through unscathed. And Dominic looked over at me and said just a simple phrase: “precious cargo.” He looked at me and our new, four-legged addition to our family, and I could see in his eyes the weight of a long weekend spent with loved ones. Holidays always remind us of our origin stories and reinforce our values. But this holiday, spent as much in the car as out of it, the importance of the little things most came into clarity during those mundane moments on the highway. We both have big hopes for the future. We have ideas about professional development opportunities, places we’d like to live (and visit), how we’d like to grow our family, and more. But in our little car, in the scary moments, it became clearer than ever how precious this period of our lives already is. We are living in precarity, but we are also living in community. And the other living beings that punctuate our daily lives provide all the momentum we need to keep going.
I felt the most content I have in a while during last week’s drive. And so I wonder: what’s the longest travel day you’ve ever had? What about the longest in an enclosed space (car, train, plane)? Did you find any increased clarity in those experiences? Did you feel content? I would love to hear. Until next time, friends.