Fast Car

"Paper and Ink Touched the mirror Broke the surface of the water Saw my true self All illusions shattered" – Tracy Chapman

I have grown comfortable in my life. A few years ago, single and slacking, such a declaration would have made me cringe. “Comfort” was equated with resignation and complacency. It signified defeat and laziness. It meant a husband, a child, a mortgage, car payments, a steady job and endless bills. It supposed boredom and conformity. Worst of all, living comfortably meant abandoning one’s creativity.

Last night, my husband and I saw Tracy Chapman perform in Toronto. Ordinarily, our life would not allow such an extravagant outing. We are comfortable but, as we remind ourselves daily, we don’t have money “to just spend”. It was Friday night and after our long and structured week, we were less than enthusiastic. As I showered and dressed, I felt doubtful. As I painted my finger and toenails black, I felt silly. As I applied thick eyeliner and green eye shadow, I wondered why I was bothering. As I tied a handkerchief in my long hair, I felt superfluous. I felt particularly ridiculous as I cranked “Fast Car” and danced around the living room as my daughter squealed in delight.

It was a classic case of denial. I could not release my excitement for fear of enjoying it too much. I had not realised how depraved my creative self had become. I have been writing lately, I have been making conscious efforts to spend time alone. I have been following the rules of being a creative individual. As I slid on uncomfortable sandals, I laughed, “who am I kidding?”

We dropped my daughter off at my parent’s house. As though looking for an excuse not to make the concert, I wondered if we ought to leave her. I imagined it unfair to be gone for so long, possibly until midnight. I kissed her goodbye; she smiled and waved, already busy with her toys. I knew she would be just fine.

We drove in comfortable silence. Conversation consisted of the day’s events, traffic, our daughter, and, of course, the weather. I played with the radio, humming ancient songs. I was hoping to find Tracy on the dial.

As we entered Toronto, I began to feel marvellously insignificant. I stared vacantly out the window. Cars and trucks as far as the eye could see. I imagined myself one amongst millions. My problems seemed petty, my life regular. My inner complexities disappeared; I became part of this mass population. Driving downtown, I scanned the multitudes of human beings. I breathed in the vastness of it all.

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