It Was Just a Drive

By Justin Howe

2 minute read

She walked out from her room with her hairbrush and a black hair tie, uniform on, glasses still in her hand.

At twelve, she does the ponytail herself more often than not. But some evenings she comes looking for me, and I’m up and over to her before she finishes asking.

This was one of those evenings.

I brushed one side, gathered her blonde hair, brushed the other side, gathered some more. A few quick twists of the black stretchy hair tie — then a quiet “that’s tight enough…” — and it was done. Neat and tidy as her uniform and belt knot.

The waves of doubt were rolling in that night. Had been for weeks. I asked if she needed her glasses cleaned before we headed out, cleaned them when she said yes, and we walked to the car.

It was an unseasonably warm and dry spring evening, cool and warm at the same time, the sun about an hour from setting. Some country roads, a few exits up the highway, then into suburbia right to the edge of SW Portland where the dojang sits.

A few minutes in, rolling down a country road, she asked about my new job. That wasn’t a normal thing for her to do — it caught me by surprise. A good kind. And I could feel that this drive was already different.

I answered her honestly. It’s very different from my old job. While there are parts that take hard work, it’s more importantly a practice — something I love, deep down, and it’s growing in ways I couldn’t have imagined. It was good. It was a practice. The word practice was an important one for her to hear.

I shifted and told her I had made this change to be here for her, for drives exactly like this, because that’s what matters most and that’s what I had missed. I looked over to see if she heard me.

She went quiet.

Hair in a neat and tidy ponytail, fully dressed in her uniform, looking straight ahead. I watched her head turn toward me and then back to the road ahead.

In the calmest, most poised voice, she said:

“Daddy? You were gone a lot.”

Her head turned halfway, watching for my response.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was, wasn’t I?”

What a brave soul, to speak up and just say it like that. She’s so much braver than me at that age.

She looked forward. Glanced back. Five seconds passed — felt like eternity.

“Yeah, you were gone too much. It was too much.”

I took a big breath with an audible exhale. Eyes welling up, fighting to keep my contacts in.

“Yeah, it was too much. I was gone too much. And that is one of the main reasons why I chose to do what I’m doing. To be here for these drives. To be here for this. To be here with you.”

I gave her a smile — eyes full, trying not to let it show, unable to hold it back entirely.

A little beginning of a smile crossed her face. “Is it better like this?” I asked, unable to keep the tremble from my voice.

The smile grew. Her hands slid under her thighs. Her feet began to kick back and forth — a little happy dance — and she turned toward me.

“Yeah… it’s sooo much better. So much better.”

Good to be here with you, my friend. Peace be with you.

— Justin

Justin Howe is the founder of Trailyst, an executive leadership coaching and consulting practice. If this piece resonated, you can read more at trailyst.com or book an exploratory conversation.