A Driver’s Lament

Loneliness.

It’s one of those things everyone feels at some point, and sometimes it settles in deeper than you expect.

It doesn’t announce itself. It just drifts quietly into your life, filling the empty rooms and the unfinished conversations, stretching out in the stillness of a house that occasionally feels just a bit too hollow. You notice it on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, when the fridge hums louder than anything outside, and you catch yourself wondering when the silence became a companion you never asked for.

Everyone tries to manage it in their own way. Some drown it out with people, others with playlists or long walks that go nowhere in particular.

Me? Sometimes the best antidote is a Boxster!

There’s a kind of comfort in summer driving. The moment I slide behind the wheel, fire up the engine, and drop the top, something inside me loosens just a little. The warm air moves through the cabin, sunlight spreads across the dash, and for a brief, fragile stretch of road, the world feels less empty. The Boxster isn’t just a car. Some days, it feels like the closest thing I have to company that truly understands the way the quiet can press in. It doesn’t speak, but it listens. It responds. It lets me steer, wander, escape.

Out there, solitude changes shape. It stops feeling like a weight and becomes something gentle. The curves demand attention; the engine answers; the tires hold steady, like they know I need something solid beneath me.

Sometimes friends join me for a rip, and their laughter shakes something loose in me. The shared joy of a long curve, the clatter of plates in a roadside diner, it all helps, even if only for a morning. But even when I’m alone again, the car gives me something real: motion. Presence. Proof that I’m still here, even when the world feels far away.

Summer isn’t just a season for me. It’s a lifeline. It give a chance to outrun the heaviness for a while, to chase warmth and empty roads and the brief, blissful feeling that I’m not alone. When the drive ends and the garage door closes, the quiet comes back. But after a summer run, it sits a little lighter.

A lot lighter actually.

The Boxster leaves behind a trace of calm, a reminder that the world isn’t as cold as it sometimes feels in the long stretches between seasons.

But…

Then winter arrives, as it always does - the long, dull season where the Boxster sleeps. It sits tucked away, top up, waiting under the oppression of snow and road salt and weeks where the sun barely shows itself. The silence in the house gets heavier then. More intrusive. No curves, no sunlight, no warm wind across my arms, just the fridge humming in a room that feels too still, too quiet, too much like a reminder of the summer drives I’m missing.

So “don’t worry”, we sports car drivers say. The sun returns. The roads clear. And better days - brighter days - always find their way back.

Roll on April.

~ Luke

thanks to @alavigne for the amazing photo