“I love the backseat drivers of this world. They allow me to play my Nintendo 3DS when I get bored, or take refreshing naps while I’m at the wheel, whatever I feel like doing in the moment. Maybe I decide on impulse to drive north into southbound traffic, or vice versa-I do it without fear because I know someone’s got my back. Maybe, on the day, I realize I’m not afraid of that gap between the two sides of the drawbridge, and I go big for it-hell, I might not even know what it is-I just know I’m going for it. Big. No home in sight. Pure go. No backwards facing sentiments . . . because my backseat driver’s handling all that stuff. I’m charging forward with my eyes squeezed tightly shut, bellowing incoherently-is it a call to battle? a cry for help? you decide!-secure in the faith that my backseat driver’s existential impulse to keep this crazy train on track will motivate them to save us both from total destruction. Of course, there may come a day when my backseat driver decides to sneakily bail on me-they are known to teleport about chasing whims and fancies it must be said-but even if that happens, I shall be untroubled. In fact, I’ll be in a state of total acceptance. All fates are fates of destruction, fast or slow, just consider the supremely healthy person inevitably subject to the ravages of time. Even one so bright and beautiful as myself must inevitably inspire a certain impatience within the most loyal of followers. It’s nothing to fear or worry over. All of us end up becoming the asshole at some point in our journey. May as well enjoy every last bowel movement!”
