Getting There

I eagerly fasten my seatbelt and whisper Tefillas Haderech because, honestly, I’m not sure where this will take me. My mind tends to wander a bit too easily and I find myself, more often than not, in the hands of my Co-pilot.

Sometimes, being alone with one’s thoughts gets crowded so I allow myself to free-associate, to coast, to resolve much of what’s walking around in my brain. Once in a while these random thoughts include solving the Great Problems of the World; but usually it’s more like: “What should I wear to that upcoming chasunah?” and “What should I serve our company on Shabbos?” and, after we moved from Cleveland to Baltimore, “Whatever did I do with the iron I’d packed — just for show?”

I might work out some precise phrasing for how to tell my spouse about some “very important and necessary” purchase I just made; I outline what I’ll say when I walk through the door and hope Amazon doesn’t announce it first. I even resolve to stay on my diet regardless of the (full disclosure) mints, nuts, and chocolate I bring along just in case — for “the company” of course.

In a more contemplative mood, I might turn on an old CD and sing along, sometimes at the top of my lungs — uninhibited by tone or talent or lack thereof. I harmonize with whomever singer or whichever song; I don’t always know the tune or the words and I don’t really care. I can convince myself that I sound really good because, after all, no one argues back.