Driving home tonight, the sky was clouded and the rain started to fall. Both girls were asleep in the back and I was letting the iPod shuffle, as it should. The Matthew Good song, Born Losers came wafting into my quiet driving experience. If you know the song, then you know the beat is neither, fast nor slow, heart pounding or melodramatic in nature.
I thought about how my body my would move, and more importantly, who would it move with? Myself, singular on the floor, pulsing to the beat of the crowd around me. With a gaggle of friends, sweaty, shoes sticky from the beer split on the floor. Or with a personal embrace from the decade long partner I share 3 children with?
No, alone in my car, or while my charges sleep, singing at the top of my lungs, car dancing. My voice cracking as I cannot reach the highest notes. My own trailer trash pedigree showing, as I drive through my nondescript, mono cultural town of 700. Stripped of all the baggage, commitments and expectations, I have piled onto my life, as nothing is ever enough, or good enough or done well enough. The car lulls into 5th gear, as I feel the tingles of the wheel in my hands.
I pull into the driveway, I once learned how to ride a bike down, as my children stirred from the end of a long drive, the fixtures of my life re-attached and normalcy returned, the dance ending until the next extended drive.