For the 20 years I’ve been working in Charleston, my daily one-way commute has averaged anywhere from 25 minutes to an hour, depending on how many fender-benders or construction barrels I encounter between here and there. Many times I’ll suffer clogged traffic both coming and going, and am left feeling as though I live in my car.

As a compulsive multitasker, I’ve learned how to make the most of my time in the car. I listen to audio books to keep entertained. And when traffic’s at a complete standstill, I use that time to organize my purse, clean my dog’s nose art off the windows, dust the dashboard and pluck gray hairs. Most of all, I make certain every errand is taken care of while I’m on my way to work or home. Once I pull into my driveway, the last thing I want is to go out again.

So it was with great reluctance that I agreed, last September, to let my daughter take a dance class in Charleston one night a week. I dreaded the thought of driving all the way home to get my daughter, then turning around to drive back again. It was a decision I didn’t make lightly, especially considering the high price of gas.

But January’s Academy of Dance was the only school offering hip-hop, so I relented, half hoping Celeste would soon change her mind and want to quit. After a few classes, though, she was hooked.

“I love to dance until I sweat,” said Celeste. (A statement that made me consider the possible need for DNA testing.)

Gradually, though, I’ve begun to realize I no longer dread Thursday nights. And as much as my girl loves to dance, she recently told me her favorite part is the drive.

Our Thursday conversations feel different from the ones we have the rest of the week. They’re more grown-up, more drawn out. More involved.

At home when we talk, it’s often over the din of TV or while we’re in motion, getting ready, doing homework, taking a bath. She and I talk all the time, even in our sleep, but if there’s a distraction of even the most simple kind, like folding laundry or making a bed, it must somehow feel less than 100 percent.

Now I suspect some who have experienced me at the wheel might suggest my driving to be a tremendous distraction, but that’s only for others. Not for me nor Celeste, who likes when my driving makes her belly tickle.

And she likes it when we have 25 minutes to talk uninterrupted, first on the way there, then again on the way back.

Until recently, I never gave much thought to the parents I’d pass on the road, driving with a cell phone glued to their ear while their children appeared glued to their Nintendos or PlayStations or portable DVD players. Now, I see it as an opportunity missed.

An opportunity I almost missed, too.

When our children seem happy and well adjusted, it’s easy to believe that in spite of the crazy schedules we keep, we must be doing OK or they’d show it somehow. We may have the best of intentions, but real life can swallow them whole.

Over the past six or eight months, I’ve been dropping as many obligations as I can manage, hoping to free up more time, to calm my life down. But I’m coming to recognize that a calm, unharried life just isn’t possible at this stage of my life. So I need to take advantage of those rare blocks of time when I can disconnect from those other distractions and focus on those who are most important to me.

In a life where I’m regularly driven to distraction, I’m going to make the most of those times - those Thursday nights - when I’m driven from it.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 15th, 2006 at 1:42 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.