Thought Bubbles on the Road
Several years ago—back when I was doing all those back-and-forth road trips from Dallas to Austin, or from D.C. to Kentucky, or even all the way from D.C. to Texas—I started noticing something.
I’d be driving along, music playing, maybe not even thinking about anything in particular, and suddenly… I’d start crying. Just a random tear. Sometimes a song would trigger it. Other times it was just a fleeting memory—something from childhood, a face I hadn’t thought about in years. No big dramatic moment, just a quiet ache that slipped in and out like a breeze through a cracked window.
I’ve always wanted to write. But for a long time, I never could bring myself to put the thoughts down on paper. Maybe I was scared—scared of being judged, scared of hurting someone’s feelings, scared it wouldn’t be good enough.
But then last year I hit this point where I thought, “You know what? Who cares?”
I’ve officially reached the age where I care a whole lot less about what people think. I write now because it helps. Because it feels good. Because, quite honestly, it’s cheaper than therapy.
I don’t always know where these little thought bubbles come from. But they pop up during long drives or quiet moments. They take me back to the past—my childhood, people I miss, things I’ve lived through. Sometimes I think my life could easily be mistaken for a really bad Lifetime movie. But even in the messy chapters, I’ve always tried to find the joy. To zoom out and see the bigger picture. To give people the benefit of the doubt, even when it’s hard.
Still… sometimes I feel guilty for even feeling sad or overwhelmed. There are people who’ve had it so much worse. And I’m incredibly grateful for how things have turned out.
Maybe that’s just part of the jumble. Maybe this is what they call “menopause brain.” Who knows?
But writing it down—this swirl of memories, emotions, and passing thoughts—makes it feel a little lighter. Like maybe those random tears on the highway were just my heart asking to be heard.
May 2025….
