Freud

Most cars are referred to as girls and are often given girl names like "Sally". My car happens to be a male whose name is "Freud". Not "Sigmund", just "Freud". The connotation is clear; Freud is my therapist. With Freud, I am allowed to have free reign. I am that weird person at the stop sign with the radio blaring, singing at the top of my lungs.  More than that though, Freud allows me to scream without having nosy neighbors overhear me and without scaring the cats. He allows me to cry without interruption and without guilt (mostly). It is with Freud whom I intend to relocate to the grand state of Nebraska. A solo drive allows for some deep reflection, and with this, sometimes things become a little clearer.

The best part about Freud is the therapy sessions that occur with another passenger. Long road trips can be the ultimate therapy session, free from everyday distractions with no escaping the confines of the vehicle. You are trapped; they are trapped. Both are forced to talk and forced to listen. Commonalities, solutions, and a sense of inner peace can be the result at the end of a good road trip. Oh, don't forget the fun and laughter too! Freud is great for bringing out the fun.

Oh!  I now remember a fun story that happened when I was just learning to drive. The best thing in the world was (and still is, if gas wasn't so damn expensive) to just toole around with friends in the car going nowhere in particular. On this night, my friend and I decided to take a detour though a cemetery. It's nearly midnight. We're sixteen. Its winter. And we have seen just about every scary movie ever made. There is quite a bit of snow on the ground and we pull into the unplowed cemetery just for fun. Yeah, we got stuck. In front of us was a towering gray tombstone. Actually we were surrounded by tombstones. She wanted me to get out of the car to push her out, but I was vying for running to the nearest house, banging on their door and begging for help. Through our nervous laughter, we were scared. Scared of the zombies that were sure to emerge from the graves like Michael Jackson's Thriller. Just about the time the zombies started to awaken, the car spontaneously broke free from the snowy grip. We were a little shaken up, but we were free at last. We escaped unscathed and never did we take another detour through a cemetery.

Be it fun jaunts, therapeutic road trips with buds, or solo reflective moments, Freud has been one of my best therapists.  With gas prices, his rates are not cheap, but somehow its worth it.