My days of long stretches in the car are over. For years I delivered Benjamin to a school half an hour away, and then went back in the afternoon to fetch him. Back in California we often went to the beach, or camping, or to visit friends up or down the coast. 

But these days most of the things I need are less than a mile away. Even my banking happens without starting up the engine.

One errand I do each month though is to get chicken feed. That translates to a forty minute jaunt all alone. When I was in Vermont the chicken watcher called to say their food can was bone empty, so I knew that come Monday morning I would be heading out before breakfast to buy a hundred pounds of crumble. 

I clicked on the radio to keep me company. But after a minute or two I felt agitated at the content and snapped it off. Looking out the window at the changing leaves was lovely, and then without really thinking I turned the radio on again. Another topic, as noxious as the last one, filled the airwaves and after only a few sentences I pushed the button. Two more times in the course of my journey I tried to listen, and both times it was a story that detracted from the lingering sense of gratitude I held on to from the wedding.

Sometimes the banter that rattles around in my head is nothing more than drivel. Replaying old conversations with an edgier response from me seems like a colossal waste of time, and yet there it is. Droning between my ears as if it is newsworthy. Too often I play both roles, me and the person I love, as if they are superfluous. Talk about egocentric. 

But I have the prerogative of turning it off. Multiple times, if necessary.