While on some random adventure to the downtown Atlanta area in the near past, I told a friend about an often-used habit of mine for those little, not-so-little moments when life becomes momentarily unbearable. Through some general trial and error, I've found that one of my favorite places to drive is nowhere in particular. It doesn't really matter what happens in my simple little life to cause the feeling of being overwhelmed, but for someone as high on emotional thunderstorms as I can tend to be, it just works, you know? Out the door, car keys in hand, ready for my own personal brand of howling at the moon as I race as fast as I can to be anywhere at all.
Shaking her head with a grin, my friend proceeded to tell me she's exceedingly surprised movie cliches haven't caught up with me yet, meaning I haven't been in some stormy night car accident dripping with the destiny that will change my life forever (cue the ominous music).
In all seriousness, I've thought about that habit of mine countless times over. There's no rhyme or reason to where I race off to because it's not the destination that's the most crucial part of it. Driving gives me the chance to have a moment's peace, to turn the wheel and know I know where it's going, to pray and to think and to scream and to know that I'm okay. No talking needed. I can gather my own thoughts, assuage my raging attitudes, and just…breathe, I suppose. Sometimes words from others are the last thing I need and can serve to only hurt me more.
Yet for some reason, I have a remarkably hard time applying this logic to other people.
When it comes to the problems of the people I love, I want to be neck-deep and offering every last one of the right answers until my throat is hoarse from being correct. I want to be the one to give them the advice they'll remember, to put all the right phrases together in some lecture of goodwill that'll seemingly solve all of their problems. I'm a lover of words and people and a perpetrator of endless pride, a dangerous combination when I can convince myself I know exactly what to say.
I don't.
I don't know any of the answers. I don't know what's on the minds and hearts of the people I love, and even if I did, my frazzled brain wouldn't have a clue as to how to handle that information. I'm nosy as all get out and will just keep running my mouth if I get the chance, thinking that if I say everything, I'll cover all the bases. But I'm wrong. Sometimes the best thing I can do for the people I love the most is to just listen, is be there for them or even be away from them for them. Sometimes the best thing I can do for someone else is to recognize that I can't give them the answers. Giving someone an ear to listen or space to heal is perhaps the most important thing I can do for them. Sometimes the best thing I can do for someone is to let them go on whatever their drive may be and be ready and waiting for them if they need someone by their side.
Life's momentarily unbearable moments sometimes require an escape without answers or words. Without anything at all. Nothing can be a gift if used correctly. I'm still…figuring out the kinks of that, that's for sure, but I won't give up on it. For the people I love, I'll be working and learning how to do just about anything I can.
And nothing is included.