There is a line from one of Peter Gabriel’s songs that has always stayed with me:

“When I want to get away, I drive off in my car.”

Every time I hear those words, I smile because they perfectly describe me.

Driving has always been my escape.

When life gets loud, when my thoughts become tangled, when stress starts piling up, or when I simply need to breathe, I grab my keys, get in my car, turn my music up, and just drive. I don’t always have a destination. Sometimes the destination isn’t the point. The road is.

The best conversations I’ve ever had with myself didn’t happen sitting in a therapist’s office. They happened behind the steering wheel with my favorite songs blasting through the speakers. Somewhere between the stoplights, the winding back roads, and singing every lyric at the top of my lungs, life starts making a little more sense.

My love of driving began when I was sixteen years old.

Just after I got my driver’s license, my parents gave me my very first car—a bright red 1989 Nissan Sentra with a five-speed manual transmission. To anyone else, it may have looked like just another little economy car, but to me it was freedom sitting in my driveway. I can still picture it today—that bright red paint, the simple interior, roll down windows and that stick shift standing proudly between the front seats, waiting for me to figure it out.

At the time, I wasn’t exactly thrilled that it was a stick shift. Like most sixteen-year-olds, I wanted an automatic because it seemed so much easier. My parents, however, had a different plan. They believed that if I learned to drive a manual transmission, I would be able to drive just about anything. They wanted me to become a confident and capable driver instead of taking the easy way out.

Looking back, they were absolutely right.

My dad took me out to practice over and over again. We drove quiet back roads while he reminded me when to push in the clutch, when to shift gears, and how to keep from stalling. Between our practice drives, I spent countless hours in our driveway going back and forth until shifting gears became second nature. Little by little, I gained confidence, and before long, driving that red Nissan Sentra became something I absolutely loved.

Today, at forty-seven years old, I often think about that little red car.

There is an old saying: “I wish I knew then what I know now.”

Nothing could be more true.

If I had known how much that 1989 red Nissan Sentra would come to mean to me, I never would have sold it. I would still be driving it today if I could. I honestly believe I would have driven it until the wheels fell off. It wasn’t the fastest car. It wasn’t luxurious. It didn’t have heated seats, Bluetooth, navigation, or all the technology cars have today.

But it had something far more valuable.

It held memories.

It represented my first taste of independence, late-night drives with the radio turned up, learning life lessons, and discovering that sometimes the best way to clear your mind is simply to get behind the wheel and take a drive.

Even now, all these years later, I still love driving just as much. It helps me process my thoughts when I’m overwhelmed, eases my stress after a difficult day, and gives me space to think without distractions. I turn my music up, sing along without caring who’s watching, and let the road carry me wherever I need to go. Somehow, by the time I get back home, my heart always feels a little lighter and my head a little clearer.

If I could choose my dream vehicle today, it would be a white Mercedes-Benz AMG GLE 53 Coupe. It’s absolutely beautiful. But if someone told me I could have that Mercedes or have my little red 1989 Nissan Sentra back exactly the way it was when I was sixteen, hands down, I would choose the 89 Nissan Sentra.

Sometimes the most valuable cars aren’t the most expensive ones.

They’re the ones that carry the best memories.

Maybe that’s why Peter Gabriel’s words have always resonated with me.

“When I want to run away, I drive off in my car.”

For me, those words have never just been lyrics.

They’ve been a way of life.

Because every time I get behind the wheel, I’m reminded that sometimes the best destination isn’t a place at all. Sometimes it’s peace. Sometimes it’s clarity. Sometimes it’s healing. The miles have a way of untangling my thoughts, quieting my worries, and reminding me to keep moving forward, one road at a time.

Whether I was sixteen years old driving my bright red 1989 Nissan Sentra with the windows down or someday I’ll be behind the wheel of my white Mercedes-Benz AMG GLE 53 Coupe, one thing will never change.

I’ll always be the girl who finds herself somewhere between the music, the open road, and the next turn.

Because for me, driving has never just been about getting somewhere.

It’s always been about finding my way back to myself.

Love,

Fran xo