The turn of the key and the scrape of it leaving the ignition. The familiar catch of the door handle in new silence. Looking up and knowing you’re home. The release of a breath amid the settling relief of good things that come at the end of a long day.
A driveway brings you home. It’s the unassuming space between out and in, between here and there. We don’t stop to consider it nearly often enough - unless to notice something out of place.
If you’re like me, having lived in many places, the driveway you have now is not the only one you’ve known with such familiarity.
I remember the bump of the pothole at the front of the long dirt driveway where I grew up. Even when asleep, I could always feel it, and it told me I was home. It's been paved over, but I still think of it sometimes when I drive over the space where it used to be.
I remember the long, narrow driveway leading up to the first apartment I ever lived in, a straight shot past familiar homes, and the old fence near which I met my husband for the first time. I didn't have a car back then, but I walked it more times than I could count.
I lived many years without a driveway. The experience taught me the true value of something many of us take for granted daily. Few things pile onto exhaustion like an hour driving around looking for a parking spot in a busy New York City neighborhood after a long day. Few things are so frustrating as sitting in your car for over an hour to move it out of the way of street cleaners who never come.
One Sunday evening after a weekend away, we drove so long looking for a spot that we gave up. We drove to my in-laws an hour away and spent the night. That's NY.
When we moved from the city into our house, the driveway meant home again. Every night, no matter how long the day, we have a safe place to land. A place to pull up the car, get out, and breathe that sigh of relief. Next time you pull into your driveway, think about what that space means to you and where you would be without it.
Take a moment to notice the turn of the key and the scrape of it leaving the ignition. The familiar catch of the door handle in new silence. Looking up and knowing you’re home. Release a breath amid the settling relief of good things that come at the end of a long day.
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