It’s very (Southern) Californian to attempt to write about driving in a positive light. 

Actually, since I’ve had the opportunity to experience public transit and walkable cities (DC, Philly, San Francisco, and the like), it’s a bit odd to even want to write about cars and driving at all, but I’m going to try, anyway.

At 20, when you’re one of the last of your friends to get a driver’s license, it feels very official and very grown-up. I wanted to make up for all the times my friends picked me up at my place and dropped me off when our time together was over. I wanted to take my friends out to eat. I wanted to take us to the movies. I wanted to take us to the beach. I wanted us to go to L.A. All of this was very ambitious. (The first time I drove myself alone to L.A. was an experience, to say the least. You get better in time.) 

I love offering a ride, though. I love picking up friends—or they can come to me, whatever’s more convenient. I drive a 2016 Toyota Highlander, so there’s always room for everybody. The world is our oyster in my SUV. Southern California traffic is pretty miserable, though, especially in the summer. We brace ourselves for the first 30 minutes of traffic and get delirious when it becomes 45. But at some point in the car, after spending incredible quality time together, what’s a little more? Or is this California romanticism? (This could be a problem with Southern California: finding excuses to cope with car dependency)

Regardless, I like being behind the steering wheel. I like the responsibility of driving people around and home. I find fulfillment in being the driving friend. It’s good practice for when I’m in L.A. It’s also an ego boost when they trust me to be a safe driver. Because everywhere in California is near and far all at once, driving anywhere with good company is something worth looking forward to. Traffic becomes easier to put up with. When there’s no more traffic, relief and excitement come together when I step on the gas some more. Taking on this role is really my excuse to spend time with people I enjoy being around, or even getting to know better. But it is a multi-faceted role. Perhaps, to a certain extent, a driver isn’t all that different from a party host. You have guests to attend to and check up on; music has to play in the background. Or not, up to you. You have to keep the flow going. I think the only differences are the space and environment, and how you have to keep your eyes on the road and everybody alive. But that’s a given.

Every now and then, money gets tight, and gas becomes a more salient concern. We start mulling over whether a place is too far. We try to meet up more locally. I’ve heard about friends paying for gas money, even keeping tabs on xyz. I haven’t gotten to that point yet, and I certainly hope I don’t have to. When meeting up with friends, perhaps to my own detriment, I don’t think about money as much as I should. This is not to say that friendship and companionship is or should be measured on how much gas money is wasted, or how much time it takes to get to them. No lasting friendship should feel transactional in that regard. What I mean is that the lengths of which I go through to see my friends are irrelevant. If we have time and an opportunity to hang around, why not? It’s not every day we get to spend a few hours together. If I get to drive them, great. If they get to drive me—many, many thanks, always.

I think the best part of being a driving friend, though, are the things I get to hear. Laughter, chatter, thinking out loud. Or nothing at all. Once, after some long hours at the beach, I drove my friends home with the windows down and let the salty breeze brush through our damp hair. Another time, after a show in Highland Park, a friend was listening to my music playing on shuffle and laughed, “I feel like I should be wearing penny loafers!” When the November rain was coming down strong (to the point of flash-floods), a friend and I drove to a cafe against the pouring rain to catch up over matcha, because it had been two weeks since we’d last seen each other. More recently, whilst stationery-store-hopping, another friend psychoanalyzed me. Never a dull day behind the steering wheel.

And there can be a lot to talk about in the car. Former friendships, navigating relationships with your parents, what it’s like to work with people who clearly come from a different income bracket, unemployment, graduate school, and when push comes to shove, the political and economic state of the world right now. It’s good to share what’s on your mind with people you like who also like you back. Awkward silences in the sacred space of a car aren’t really a thing when you’ve known the passengers long enough. New things can come to surface—from the stories of our adolescence, to growing pains in our adult lives that we’re still reconciling with.

With how little time we get with one another, my friends and I make the most of our time in the car. In a state that has an overreliance on the automobile, where the improvements to public transit move quarter-inches at a time, the vehicle has become a kind of Third Space. Inside the car, there is room for cross-cultural exchange on a variety of levels between us as peers. I may jest; but really, bad traffic isn’t that much of a bother when we exchange thoughtful, engaging and occasionally playful words amongst ourselves.

As the driver, you have to handle these moments with care while trying your best to look alive behind the wheel. There’s tension that you have to balance. How can you show that you’re listening with intent, without distractions? Sometimes, I don’t really have anything to say back. Instead, I try to keep it peaceful and safe for my friends to continue speaking, to continue sharing. Then, I thank them for trusting and confiding in me. My continued response is something I usually wish I could articulate better, smarter. But I’m too caught up on getting us somewhere and keeping us alive. I guess this is the downside of being the driving friend: You can miss the smaller parts and nuances of the conversation.

Yet, living and driving in Southern California has revealed to me how special it is to be candid and vulnerable in the car with someone, anyone. The drives can be interrupted or still; they can be short and long. No matter what, something remarkable happens inside the vehicle. Once the doors shut, we pick our brains and push to get to know each other better, because the moving car is making us think on the spot. And when you’re in California, problems of traffic and other driving inconveniences truly are insignificant in the face of friendship and a fun time.

When I say goodbye to my friends, sometimes they’ll watch me leave or I’ll stay and wave to them before I drive off. It’s comforting and relieving to watch everybody get home safely. How lucky I am to be friends with loving people who I enjoy having in my life. Even luckier, that I have an SUV to fit them in. It’s a privilege to have a car and I certainly can’t take it for granted. 

The sole purpose of having a car may not be to seek out friends to drive places, but it serves me well in getting me to them. Driving my car to find and build my community is something that I continuously look forward to.