Driving does not define me

Most people who know me know that I have spent a lot of time driving.

Long drives were never unusual for me. They were part of my rhythm and how I moved through the world. But when I really think about it, driving was never just about transportation.

For me, it started as freedom.

Back in 1991, I bought my first car. I still remember how happy I was because that car represented independence. Before that, I had spent time riding buses back and forth from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, to Tampa, Florida. The bus got me where I needed to go, but it did not give me control.

Having my own car changed that.

When I drove from Tampa to Pine Bluff, I decided when I left. I decided when I stopped. I knew the route. I knew the gas stations. I knew how far I could push myself before I needed a break.

That car gave me control over the experience.

And at that point in my life, control felt like independence.

When I was in graduate school, my friends and fraternity brothers knew I made regular trips from Tampa back to Pine Bluff. Fifteen hours. Sometimes more. I made that drive so many times that it became second nature.

It was just what I did.

What I did not realize was that I had started attaching too much of my identity to my ability to drive. Driving became more than a way to get somewhere. It became part of how I saw myself.

As my life changed, my options changed too. My professional life grew. My socioeconomic status changed. But mentally, I kept defaulting to driving as my primary form of travel.

Even when I had other options, I often did not consider them.

When I was sworn in as a naval officer, I could have had my car shipped to my final duty station. I could have flown from Tampa to Little Rock, spent time with my mother, then flown to Newport, Rhode Island, and later to Jacksonville, North Carolina. The military would have paid for it.

But I did not choose that.

I wanted my car. I wanted the reliability. I wanted the control. I wanted independence.

At the time, that made perfect sense to me. But looking back, I can see something now that I could not see then.

Sometimes what begins as independence can quietly become limitation.

To be clear, I enjoyed driving. There is something peaceful about being on the road, watching the miles pass, listening to music, and thinking through life.

But over time, I had to confront a truth:

I had become so fixated on driving as my main source of travel that I stopped asking whether it was still the best option.

And that is where growth comes in.

Growth does not always mean adding something new. Sometimes growth means looking at yourself honestly and saying, “You have moved beyond the circumstances that once shaped your decisions.”

That can be hard to admit because the habits that helped us survive one season can feel like loyalty. They can feel like discipline. They can feel like proof of who we are.

But sometimes they are just habits.

There was a time when driving represented freedom for me. But as life changed, I had to allow myself to change too.

That meant giving myself permission to fly when flying made more sense. It meant giving myself permission to rest. It meant being honest about my body, my time, my energy, and my stage of life.

Even now, at 57, I still drive from place to place. I still enjoy it. But I am trying to be more strategic. I am trying to build in breaks. I am trying to be honest with myself when flying makes more sense than driving.

Because just because I can do something does not mean I always should.

One of the dangers of defining yourself by the things you do is that you can forget you are not the same person you used to be.

Driving has been part of my story. It has taken me home. It has taken me to school. It has taken me to friends, family, duty stations, courtrooms, and chapters of life I will never forget.

But driving is not who I am.

It is something I did. It is something I still do. But it does not define me.

At some point, we all have to ask ourselves:

“Am I still choosing this because it serves me, or because I never gave myself permission to grow beyond it?”

For me, that thing was driving.

And I am finally learning that I can honor what it meant without being limited by what it used to represent.