Driving in Snow
a creative writing edition (#3)
Context: I live in New England, where winter is long and filled with snow. I’ve never been good at driving in snow; despite snow tires I’ve had to be pulled out of a ditch twice in seven years. My perusal of YouTube videos on this topic helped some, but not much, and I continue to be an anxious wintertime driver. Two things have recently changed in this regard: one, I got a new car a month ago and for the first time have a car worth worrying about; two, my friend Josh has promised to teach me how to drive in snow and ice, education to which I am very much looking forward.
Like Being on Board the USS Enterprise
The snow started hitting my windshield as I signaled to turn out of my therapist’s parking lot for the drive home.
Big, fat flakes; the kind that make a beautiful pattern on the windshield, tiny masterpieces that glisten just long enough to appreciate how lovely they are before they melt and vanish forever.
It was 8pm on the dot, seven minutes after my session ended.
My new car is still a fun toy, especially the technical bells and whistles. My bluetooth hearing aids mean that the female computer voice speaks directly into my ears, which is a lot of fun when dictating texts, including the texting-myself-as-note-taking habit I’ve had for years, or having “her” read received texts back to me.
Your message to Holly says: “pickles on grocery list, order more eye drops, write proof of infinite primes for number theory lesson for Carol.”
Your message to Josh says: “It’s a wonder any of us keep our goddamn sanity.” Send it?
What do you want to say to Dr. Roller Gator?
Vermont is all curvy, two-lane back roads with low speed limits. My route home from therapy is 11 miles that takes 35 minutes. (By Vermont standards this is close, and convenient.)
After pausing in the parking lot to enjoy watching snowflakes melt on my windshield, I put an instrumental Christmas piece that I love on auto-repeat (listen here) and headed home.
This particular piece has an intense emotional effect on me. It’s slightly dark and sinister, but also empowering and energizing. It feels like the soundtrack to facing and overcoming a challenge, making it the ideal accompaniment to driving home from therapy, in heavy snow, which is a driving condition that scares me.
It really shouldn’t have; the roads were almost free from traffic, and I know I have good tires. Three weeks ago, I took my new car to the mechanic I trust. He told me I had good ones, the same ones he would have on the car if he were going to drive it all winter. But it did, a little. My heart was beating just a mite too fast.
The music helped.
Speeding never tempts me, but the music made me feel like the car was flying, free and limitless as a bird, and the miles passed quickly despite my attention to staying under the limit.
I turned from the main road, onto the first of the many back roads that lead to my tiny, rural village.
The snow blowing past my car in the dark, with the music of adventure and challenge and power pumping into my ears, made me feel like I was on board the USS Enterprise.
My path home is long, winding, curvy roads, with almost no light beyond a few illuminated houses. On daylight drives, I had noticed the lights appearing in mid-October, a standard move—get the house decorated for Christmas before the weather is cold enough to make this annual chore into a wrestling match with the elements.
Now that winter is here, the homeowners are turning these lights on.
The drive home is dark and solitary, but sturdy New England houses, which have borne six months of winter every year for decades, were beacons of strength and resilience.
Reminders of hope, outlined in white icicle lights.
The red and green touches on windowsills and mailboxes were signposts of joy, and made me smile.
When I turned onto the road that’s the longest, darkest stretch, I imagined that I heard Captain Picard telling me to set a course for home.
Engage.
The snow blew past at 34 miles per hour, a minuscule fraction of warp speed.
For a brief, very precious time, I was alive, and safe, and happy.
Commentary: I try to be present in my life, to whatever extent I can. Mindfulness is difficult for everyone, in our hyper-distracted world, and my psychological fragmentation presents an extra challenge there. When I notice that I am able to be fully present in a moment, especially a happy one, I try very hard to experience it fully and remember it. This one stuck in my mind and I wanted to write about it, but it’s not really a story. There’s no theme or lesson and nothing changed, so I wasn’t sure if writing about it would turn into something enjoyable or not. I appreciate very much having this forum to do little creative experiments and hear some feedback!
God I love winter. I obviously don't know Josh the way you do, but I feel like I have a certain degree of trust in his ability to teach you to drive in the winter. He always struck me as knowledgeable with cars. My one Canadian piece of advice: after a big dump of snow, preferably with some packed frozen snow beneath, go to the biggest emptiest parking lot you can find and slide around. Don't need to go crazy trying to do donuts or anything, but if you learn at which point in the turn you loose traction, and how to counter steer, you'll be 90% of the way there, and yiur confidence should greatly improve. The most important thing is learning to turn where you want to go instead of just hitting the breaks. Sliding a bit will no longer phase you. After that it's as simple as reducing speed, breaking much earlier, and increasing space between other drivers.
Reading this piece was a brief little adventure. I just started reading with no pre-conceptions of what "a creative writing edition" was. I quickly found myself immersed in the narrative and intrigued by how it read like a novel that brings the reader right into the setting. Then, just as my anticipation of what was coming had my full attention, it ended! Awww. Good writing!