From the Editor’s Desk: Drive (Premium)

One of my favorite Nate Bargatze jokes is an extended bit about travel that instantly resonated with me because it so effortlessly captures a dynamic I share with my wife. He describes flying to Florida separately from his wife and kid and calling his wife ahead of their flights to find out when they’re arriving so he can meet them at the right gate in the airport. He asks, “what time do you guys leave?” And she responds with “noon,” even though it was 11:30 am at the time of the call and the wife and daughter were still at home.

“I was like, Laura, I don’t know if you even know what an airport is,” he responded, “but if that plane was in our driveway, I don’t think you could make it. And she said, that’s what time we leave for the airport; our flight’s not until 1:30. And I was like, alright, alright. So what do you think I wanted to know when I asked that question? Is that what you thought the best time you could give me was, a time that means nothing to nobody? What time did you go to bed last night? Just tell me that, and I’ll look up all the planes that land in Florida, and I’ll guess which one I think you’re on.”

Hilarious, yes, though it obviously didn’t go over well with Bargatze’s wife. But their final interaction on this topic is what captures the dynamic I am all-too-familiar with myself, and so perfectly.

“She said, ‘I’m sorry I don’t talk the way you want me to talk’,” he continued. “I’m like, I want you to talk like a regular person, like you’ve been around people before.” And then a pause before bringing it home with, “We didn’t talk in Florida, I can tell you that.”

I relate to this so strongly because I have these interactions with my wife all the time. I will ask her a yes or no question, and she launches into a detailed description of whatever thought process led her to whatever answer. And if it’s one of those times when I’m maybe short on patience or literally just need her to get to the point, I will cut her off and say something like, “please just say yes or no.” This would be funny if it didn’t happen so often, and while her irritation is that I should know she feels the need to explain things, I feel that she should know how important it is to me that she just get to the damn answer. And on we go.

This past Friday, we had to drive over 9 hours to get to North Carolina so we could attend our daughter’s college graduation. And by “had to drive,” I mean that we could have flown, but my wife is thrifty, and she wanted to save money by driving. She decided this knowing I had zero interest in spending (wasting) that much time in a car: my hips get uncomfortable on long drives, and I can’t really afford to spend 9 hours out on a work day, not writing and otherwise keeping up with work. And I knew that she preferred to drive, and so I agreed to this mistake, as I still see it, to make her happy.

The compromise was that we split up the driving. She drove the first four hours or so, giving me time to work from the passenger seat with a laptop, which went OK. We rented a car so we could have something more comfortable than our little piece of junk, something with Android Auto and Apple CarPlay so I could be reminded again of how much I hate our car. And she even suggested swinging through Washington D.C. on the way home because she knows I love the place, and, who knows, maybe that would shut me up. Instead, I silently did the math on how the rental car and the D.C. side trip would likely end up costing more than just flying to North Carolina in the first place. And I stewed, dreading the drives on either end of our daughter’s graduation.

Of course, I also have a rich history with my wife when it comes to driving. This dates back to her driving me home from the hospital after having ACL surgery on my knee, before we were even married. She stopped short at one point, sending my just-repaired knee slamming into the dashboard of the car, triggering shooting pain through my body. And without getting into every story over the intervening 35 years, I’ll just leave it at us having very different approaches to driving. It’s possible that I drive a little too aggressively because I actually want to get to where I’m going. And it’s equally possible that she maybe drives as if it’s her first time behind the wheel, every time.

Which is, so stupidly on my part, a fairly accurate description of what I ended up saying out loud during the recent drive to North Carolina. When, after she for some reason allowed the third car in a row to pass her on the right and then get in front of us, I said something like, “maybe you could drive fast enough that they don’t want to pass us or maybe just get out of their way,” or whatever. After a moment of silence, she finally said, “maybe you could just let me drive how I want to drive.” And I responded with, “maybe you could drive like you’ve actually been in a car before.”

What I can tell you is that we did talk in North Carolina, at least. We got by this because we were happy to see the kids–Mark flew in from New York as well–and delighted to see Kelly graduate from college. It was terrific, and if I passed out Saturday afternoon in a debilitated haze because of exhaustion tied largely to that horrible day of driving coming right after a trip back from Mexico, so be it. These are the things you do when you care about people.

As I write this, we’re driving home. Well, towards home: We’re going to D.C. first, for less than 48 hours. And then we’ll be home, and I can get better caught up on work.

Maybe I can keep my mouth shut this time.