It’s not just one of my all time cult classic faves, it’s also, as it turns out, a great title.

How ridiculous is it that I still have dreams of John Cusack standing outside my window, stereo blaring to In Your Eyes, waiting for me.

Really ridiculous? Or really really?

I’d go with the really really.

I have such great memories in high school of driving around late at night during the spring and summer, In Your Eyes blaring, windows down, sunroof back.

Driving aimlessly. Driving to drive away from everything I didn’t want to deal with. Things were so much more dramatic then. Typically involving a boy.

There was something so freeing about that — driving just for the sake of driving. To know I could go anywhere, if I wanted to.

I both lost and found myself on those drives. Thus began my fondness of late night hours.

Everything seemed so much better and clearer when driving.

The longer I drove and the more turns I took, the more sense things made. They fit. My concerns becoming part of the lefts and the rights. The illegal U-turns. I’ve been known to still do those.

Anything big that happened in my life, whether that was what I deemed “good” or “bad”, was solidified with a drive.

My 16th birthday and first solo drive alone. Taking off to William and Mary in the middle of the night to help my brother pack up his dorm room. Debating on whether or not to say yes to being asked to prom (clearly I wasn’t too into the guy). The night my (other) brother’s best friend kissed me. Being accepted to Governor’s School. Virginia Tech. The moment I realized my parents were splitting up — that was three and a half hours of driving. Along with the most depressing cds I could rummage up in my car. Somehow, hip hop and anything upbeat was just completely uncalled for. I was devastated and needed to be reassured by equally devastating music.

I suppose that’s what I enjoy so much about writing … knowing I can Say Anything, while capturing what I wanted captured. Perfectly preserved with words and articulated thoughts.

Sometimes when I think of that me on those late night drives, I get nostalgic.

I miss home. I miss my unwavering confidence. I was too young to know anything else. I was more reckless. Impulsive.

I’m a tamed down version of that girl now.

Somehow don’t we all become tamed down versions of who we once were? Isn’t that just simply what happens as we grow up?

I mean this neither positively or negatively, more like a factual observation.

Because I can only imagine if my 16 year old self were running the show, I wouldn’t be where I am, having done the amazing things I’ve done.

But I can still listen to Peter Gabriel all I want, and say anything.