Kind of a Wreck, Kind of a Leader

There’s a kind of stillness that only happens in your car.

Not while you’re driving. Not while you’re going anywhere.
But when you’ve parked and just sat.

In the space between where you were and where you’re going.
Before going into work for the day. After the appointment. In between the errands or the obligations.

It’s the moment you let the silence settle around you. The seatbelt’s off but the weight’s still there. And for a few quiet minutes, you’re allowed to just be.

Sometimes I use that time to cry.
Sometimes I scroll or stare or listen to music without really hearing it.
Sometimes I take a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.

These parking lot pauses have become a strange kind of self-care.
There’s something peaceful about sitting in your own little bubble of steel while the world keeps spinning around you. Life continues, cars pass, emails pile up, people move, but for a few sacred minutes, you’re allowed to be still.

A ritual.
A breath between demands.

They’re not about productivity. They’re not even about clarity.
They’re just about presence.

In a world that wants us to move faster, do more, show up on time and hold it all together, the parking lot pause is rebellion.
A gentle one.
But rebellion, nonetheless.

So if you’ve ever lingered in your car just a little longer, before stepping into the next thing, you’re not alone.

It counts.
It matters.
It’s enough.