Wanna eliminate stress? Let’s drive!

A version of the Saturday drives that are essential for my mental health

Olivia Synek / Opinion Editor / The USD Vista

Saturday has finally rolled around. I had such a demanding week with midterms, essays, and work. I had so much to do that my planner was overwhelming me, so I wrote a separate priorities list. My rule was, ‘do not complete and cross out a task on the list until the task above it is finished.’ This worked well; however, I had a burst of energy to do my Chemistry of Cooking homework, and finished it even though it was at the bottom of my list. It’s not even due until next week. The crossed out “chem homework (due mon.)” at the very bottom of the page (in pink pen) stressed me out so much that I had to make a new priorities list. 

To combat stress, my favorite thing to do is to go for a drive. That is exactly what I am going to do after the busy week I’ve had. I get out of bed but I am still so exhausted. I know exactly where my first stop will be: coffee. I grab my keys and head out the door.

It’s a sunny day, so I roll down the windows, open the sunroof, tie my hair up, and pull my left leg up onto my seat. I plug my phone into the aux cord I stole from my roommate, and scroll through Spotify to pick the first song of the day. I start with “I Don’t Know About You” by Chris Lane. I know what you’re thinking, “Ew, country.” But, to that I say, country music is lyrically better than the other songs I hear most of the time, but I understand how controversial that is. Truth is, I have had this song stuck in my head for two weeks now and I am unable to stop listening to it. 

As I pull out of my parallel parking space, I notice my gas light is on. I immediately start fearing for my future self as she looks at her bank account realizing it cost $100 to fill up her tank and now she really won’t be able to afford Harry Styles nosebleeds seats. 

My new first stop: Valero. I pull up next to the gas pump which always triggers a certain flashback for me: I was 16 years old the first time I ever got gas by myself. As I pulled into the Chevron in 2016, I miscalculated how close the gas pump was to me and took off my fender. An old man began to yell at me so I sped off, crying and leaving the fender on the ground.  

After getting through that bad memory, I begin to pump my gas, stopping it at $10 because I really don’t want to spend $100 today. I get back into my car and decide which coffee shop I should map to, while “I Don’t Know About You” plays in the background for the third time now without me realizing. I could go to Bay Park Coffee because I am close to it and the rosemary bagel is delicious, or I could go to Communal Coffee in North Park because it gives me an excuse to drive longer. I then decide the latter, and my Apple map reads, “17 minutes.” 

I finally realized I was repeating the same song and quickly changed it to “Get By” by Still Woozy. This is easily the best song on their recent album, so I turn the volume up all the way and feel the exhilaration of driving on the highway with the wind flowing through my car. I also queue “I’m Just Snacking” by Gus Dapperton, “What Once Was” by Her’s, and “Crazier” by Taylor Swift (weird choice but I had a craving to listen to it).

As I take a right onto Texas St., the last few lines of “Crazier” play. In Communal Coffee’s North Park location, there are only three parking spaces, so I have to drive around to find a place to parallel park. Yes, I am happy to say I can in fact parallel park. I head inside, order an almond milk latte, wait for my name to be called, then I head back to the car.

As I start up my car for the third time today, I notice my mom calling me. I answer my phone on Bluetooth at the same time I pull out of my space. She does the same thing she always does, which is yell at me for being on the phone while driving when she’s the one that calls me. She always tells me to throw my phone in the backseat while I am driving, but does anyone actually do that?

When I am finally done updating her on what is going on in my life, I am already home. As you can tell, I don’t know how to get to Communal Coffee but I know how to get home from Communal Coffee, a common trait of mine when it comes to my normal San Diego destinations. I take a sigh of relief when I realize the parking spot in front of my house is still open. I turn the car off, roll my windows up, close the sunroof, take my hair down, and step out of the car. When I get inside my house, I have the mental health start on the first task of my new priorities list: “poly comm. essay (due mon.).”