There are a lot of empty seats

My place is in the driver’s seat. I suppose the main reason is that I’m prone to car sickness. Staying focused on the road, and knowing when the starts, stops, and curves are coming keeps the queasiness away.  I also enjoy the strategy of deciding on the route and finding my lane. In truth there is an independence in driving that is probably a metaphor for how I feel most comfortable in my life. It’s empowering. And for the most part, I simply don’t want to be a passenger in life.

I currently drive an Audi Q7. I was a convertible driver for many years, and a full-sized SUV was not my first choice. Although excited to get back into an Audi, I would have selected a mid-size, but Tim overruled me.  We were thinking ahead to our move and he said, “we need the full size for our road trip to Colorado. Hank needs to be comfortable.” Yes, he DID say that. He also added that it would be good for our winters and adventures, lugging around skis, bikes and other recreational items. I now call my SUV The Stallion and it certainly has become my work horse.

I have grown to appreciate The Stallion. I have the space for my backpacks, snowshoes, luggage, and it holds my bike so I don’t need a rack on the back. I am able to escort all of my out of town guests. And so far, it has also carried Hank and I on nine cross country trips. However, there are a lot of empty seats.

On our first cross-country trip without Tim, I put Hank in the front passenger seat. Who doesn’t want their best buddy riding shotgun? I don’t know why, but he had a hard time getting comfortable there. So on our first stop, I moved him to the back seat. From time to time, I would try again and on subsequent trips, he would always start shotgun, but it just wasn’t working for him.  Was he saving that spot for Tim? In our old SUV he loved sitting on the console between Tim and I. He looked like an explorer, perched high, watching the horizon ahead of us. Tim called him Christopher Columbus. And as I approached a turn, I would say “use your core Christopher,” so he wouldn’t tip over. We would feel our little man leaning into either of our shoulders depending on the direction of the turn.

There is room in the Stallion for a few riders. And all the seats are important. Shotgun feels like the seat for your partner, your navigator, your conversationalist, and by origin, your protector. But what about the back passenger spot, where you can catch the rider in your rearview mirror, occasionally sharing a smile. How about the back driver’s side, someone sitting behind you with an occasional hand on your shoulder, them catching your eyes in your own mirror.

And this really isn’t about a car, is it? It’s about looking next to you and suddenly the one who was always there is no longer there. It’s about figuring out how to keep driving without a navigator. It’s about knowing you are okay even when the shotgun seat is empty. It’s about trusting yourself because you are the only driver. It’s about figuring out, amidst all the change, who sits in what seat. It’s about the journey. Being safe. Feeling joy. And committing to the adventure.

Hank has learned to ride shotgun. He seems to enjoy it more when we are simply running errands. I always bring him along during the cool seasons because I can. I love looking over at him with his nose slightly raised, looking ahead. When we stop at a red light, I reach over and scratch his ears. And he gets very curious on the rare occasion that we stop at a drive through for lunch. He always looks hopeful.

I am happy to drive, and I’m not looking to fill all the seats. It is comforting to have a special rider no matter where he is sitting. He doesn’t even need to talk.  A look is enough to fill my heart and remind me that there is love all around me and it’s all part of this soul ride.

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