Asking for directions is not a sign of weakness. Sometimes it shows our greatest strength

Driving on the open road provides a freedom all its own. It’s my “me” time; my alone but not lonely time. Just give me two hours (I’ll take twenty minutes too…), an EZ Pass, a familiar highway, not too much traffic, and a silenced phone. Blue skies are a bonus.

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.

Did you ever notice how innocently a song can trigger tears? When that happens I allow the floodgates to open and wash over me. This is my permission to simply let go and cry unabashedly. No one will call me, no one will knock on the door and no one will ask me what’s wrong because most of the time, nothing’s wrong.

Tears are the language of the soul, its musical notes and punctuation. Mine are the private, cathartic, healing tears of regret, tears of hesitation, tears of loss, tears of gratitude, tears of heartache, and tears of joy. It’s often a jumble of all of these very mixed and personal emotions that clamor for recognition.

There are journeys one travels with others and there are those one treks alone. If I have a passenger with me, I feel I have to engage them in conversation; I want a good review on TripAdvisor. If I'm travelling with my life-partner and another person comes along they have to abide by our cardinal rule: “what you hear in this car, stays in this car.” It’s sacrosanct.