Crying in the Car

Crying in the car is a weird thing. It's something I've been doing pretty frequently recently. Pent up worry for myself and J. after a day of work where there isn't much time to be thinking about my own life is released once I am safe in the confines of my car. Cars feel like private places; a little box where no one can reach me. Where I can put on my music and cry until I feel better. The strange part, though, is that cars are really not very private. From a 4th Amendment standpoint, the SCOTUS has conclusively determined that one does not have the same expectation of privacy in a vehicle as one has in her own home. But my home is a bigger box-- and so crying in it is a totally different experience. There is a place to wander and a lot of distractions. Of course, distractions can be good. But, for a good, hard cry that is uninterrupted and can get the endorphins really flowing, the car is a perfect place.

It's not often that I see other people crying in their cars. And when I do, I sometimes want to make eye-contact and let the person know that someone feels sympathy for their pain. But, what I really do is quickly turn away and try to speed up a little so the person can have their privacy. Yesterday at a stop light on a freeway ramp, I was wiping tears away from my eyes and the driver in the car next to me noticed. Middle-aged guy. WASP. Middle-class. Probably not in touch with his emotions. It was clear that he was uncomfortable and he revved that engine to get away as fast as he could once the light turned green. Which made me laugh. Which is good for my blood pressure.