Maybe I don't have beautiful thoughts. Or beautiful things to say. My words are repeated and re-used, spun differently but treated the same. They've taken on frequencies that are unique to me, but I'm not the only one thinking them.
I had been driving for a few days, aimlessly. There were so many places I could go, but I couldn't decide on where to land. So I kept driving, reveling in the selfishness of being non-committal. I hadn't talked to anyone except myself, if that counts.
When I heard my name on the radio, I wasn't as surprised as you might think. There had been an awkward static filling up the car for a good five minutes before the voice came on.
White noise is more threatening than people realize. I heard anxiety, a never-ending credit roll that plays at the end of a movie. I would've changed the station, but I didn't. Because while it made me anxious, it also drowned out my voice. It made my mind quiet.
Just let me be quiet and anxious.
So I let the white noise of the radio take over the conversation I was having with myself. And then I heard my name. My full name. It was static, then the harsh silence, then my name. And I wasn't surprised. Because it was the world calling me out of my head.
I looked around to the cars driving beside me. Some looked puzzled, others tried changing the station.
The voice was barely a whisper, but I knew it was my name. It was just loud enough to make me pause and remember where I was. The voice was fragile and small and melted with the white noise. Almost missed. But it was my name and with its timidity I grew bold. My thoughts may not be beautiful, but couldn't there be a beauty to that? A beauty to their plainness.
I pulled over and sat on the side of the road for hours, waiting to see if there was something more than just my name. But it had turned back to the radio. And maybe that was enough revelation for one day.