I tend to write a lot about a few things. One of them is driving. Another is travel. And usually, it’s about traveling by car.

Sunday, I went for an aimless, “lonely” drive. The concept of the aimless, “lonely” drive is not new to me. It’s a treasured, historic one. I don’t remember the first time I thought it would be a good idea to just waste fuel. It goes against my viewpoint that the environment should not be treated like a toilet bowl. But whenever it was, it would have to stem from the first drive I ever took by myself.

I was 16 and had a pair of concert tickets I wanted to pick up in Providence that I had won from the radio. My father, in his infinite wisdom, having a son who had just got his license, thought it was perfectly fine to hand me the keys to his 1986 Volvo 240 and drive it into Providence during rush hour. As I write that sentence now, I sense the immaturity. I mean, it’s just Providence. How bad could it be? Well, anyone who remembers that car, which would soon become mine thanks to my father’s kindness, remembers that it had the rather novel issue of “running.” For no reason, that car would just stall, whether it was on highway, driveway, parkway, or just a plain old way. It stalled twice within a 1/2 mile of my leaving my house, and even though I thought it wise to turn back, I was just tasting my first moment of real freedom. And that’s probably where my love of driving began: That first “lonesome” journey.

The term “lonesome” finds itself in quotes in this space because I acknowledge that to most people, the idea of being in a car by yourself, with no ultimate destination, seems counterproductive to the ultimate goal of enjoying being alive. I get this. But it’s never been me. There is a, I don’t know, “oneness” that I feel when I’m driving that I don’t normally feel in my everyday life. I’m typically much more relaxed, more focused, and almost more hopeful when I’m driving alone. The idea of having no destination is exciting, if not a false idea, because really, my destination will always be “home.” I’m leaving home to get there. Just in a completely different mindset than when I left.

Sunday’s drive took me to the eastern portion of the Beltway, between College Park and the Wilson Bridge, the portion that I had no reason to ever drive before. Most of what lies in that area is, well, not nice. Lots of “Heights.” Capitol Heights. District Heights. Congress Heights. None of these are places I need to go.

After passing over the Wilson Bridge, I found myself driving through beautiful Old Town Alexandria, VA. My previous idea of “Old Town” was restricted to King St. from the Masonic Temple to the waterfront. What I didn’t know was that there is an array of beauty in the areas off of King St. Areas that reminded me a lot of Newport, RI and Cape Cod. As I headed out of Old Town, I got onto the G(eorge) W(ashington) Parkway, and drove it south, along the water, to Mount Vernon, another place I have never been. The drive is beautiful. 8 miles through the woods. Winding street. 45 MPH. Perfection by my standards.

All told, I probably drove about 85 miles on Sunday and while many people would argue that I went nowhere and ultimately furthered our country’s dependency on foreign oil, I would argue that while the latter is true, I went further than 85 miles.

For two hours, I got to free my mind from its confined space and experience the openness of the road. And while that might sound a little too “Dave Matthews-y” for yours and my own liking, it’s true. With some music and some fresh air, all of the weight and clutter of my head became free for a few hours. And that’s why the aimless “lonesome” drive is such a false statement. There’s more purpose in it for me than the trip to the grocery store. The aim is enjoyment and relaxation, both of which I take for granted most of the time. And as far as I can tell, I’m never lonesome when I have the road at my car’s feet, and the wheel at my own hands.