When I was in college, I participated in several road trips with friends. Long days, trapped in a small space. We created rules ahead of time for sharing the music list, talked a bit about our travel styles, and hit the road. I imagine there were moments any of us were tempted to jump from the car in order to get some alone time, but at the end of the week we knew each other better.
There were surprising moments when we both saw road signs that struck our funny bones, leading to stories from our past or a shared ridiculous joke. We took care of each other, remembering to distract our one slightly phobic friend when we crossed bridges, reminding another not to speed in Alabama. There were frustrating moments of car trouble, all of us leaning forward, foreheads furrowed in concentration, listening for the strange noise that would explain the light on the dash. There were moments of celebration, like when we realized we had made it to New Hampshire without the car falling apart.
Nowadays, driving across town, or country, the entire car can be productive. I could be listening to news, while my husband checks his email, one son texts his friends, another kills zombies and my daughter enjoys small animals preaching phonics. The older ones could have a head-start on homework and my husband might check out of work five minutes early because he can continue the conversation via mobile connection. We’re miracles on wheels.
We barely notice the drive. Time flies. No one gets bored.
I wonder, though: what if all the batteries on our devices failed at the same instant? What if that space, the ten minutes driving across town, or the 10 hours driving across a couple states, was held as some sort of sacred car space? Once you enter, you’re in 1979, forced to scan the radio for oldies or even sing together. There are no headphones. If a family member is annoying, you have to hear him be annoying and either join in or figure out a way to connect with him so he stops making that noise and talks with you instead.
We could celebrate together when we cross another state line, count license plates, discuss fantasy trips each family member would enjoy, teach the kids that song from childhood, sing along to Neil Diamond, share an audiobook. Boredom creates something special, something unexpected. It might be hilarity, tears or long stories, but the end result is the same: we know each other better. We are more connected than we were when we got in the car.
All aboard!