I think time travel might be real.

At least, I'm not prepared to say it isn't.

I always thought it'd be cool to be able to freeze time. When asked who I'd want to have dinner with if I could choose anyone, from any point in history to visit through space and time, I don't know that I have a ready-made answer. Not one I'd be excited about, anyway. But, if asked what I'd do if I could freeze time, my list is significantly longer.

That was actually the premise of an assignment I did in 5th grade. I imagined there was some hidden clubhouse my friends and I could go to at school, not unlike the Gryffindor common-room I suppose, where time froze when you went in and resumed when you left. I don't know why, but I've never forgotten that assignment.

Today's a very rainy, chilly day.

The foliage is changing fast and the reds, yellows, and oranges really pop against the gray skyline and charcoal-lined mountain silhouettes. I did a fair bit of driving, which I don't mind. Highway therapy comes in a lot of forms for me; sometimes a podcast gives me something to focus on other than the throes of daily life, other times it's overdue phone calls to close friends that help me escape and unplug for a bit. But probably the best way to freeze time, I've found, is by cranking the music and belting out the chorus right along with the band.

Today, that was "Wide Open Spaces" and many more by The Chicks.

Though I grew up in Massachusetts, I spent a lot of time listening to country music. I don't know... I just find that ironic. It's all my dad listened to, and he and I shared car rides together every other weekend, to and from his house, for many years. Mom's side of the family was all about classic rock, though. And like any good millennial, I found my own way to a substantial rap phase. Not to mention, I played the piano, drums, and guitar, before finally landing on the saxophone and joining the ranks of the jazz band.  But today, I traveled back to the 90s for a bit, where, apparently, lyrics to country songs of the time remain burned into my brain.

Finally pulling into the driveway, I brace myself for the rain I'm stepping into. Opening the door, I'm hit with the smell of the neighbor's wood-burning fireplace, riding the crisp, wet, New England breeze this way and that. Which is how I wind up standing there with my feet glued to the gravel. Because if I close my eyes, I swear it's the early 2000s—that my mom and I are just getting out of the car at my grandparents' place, squishing our way through the snow in the dark and following the scent of the fire. Any moment, my grandfather just might yell down "Wait! Bring up some more wood!"

But it's 2026.

And I'm walking towards the house alone after driving on the same highway my mom and I would take up from Massachusetts back then. I'm slipping on a few leaves brought down by the rain rather than snow but, still, I'm thinking time travel just might be real.

At least, I'm not prepared to say it isn't.

* * *

What's your carpool karaoke song? Where does it take you?

onward.

For more on this daily column, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.