If every car in the country were white you would live in a white carnation.

I have the bumpiest car out of anyone I know.


Bumpy is almost too cute a word actually. “Bumpy” is the Chuck E. Cheese version of what my car is. It’s like a white squall of asphalt every day of my life.


Although this has created a delightfully entertaining game for myself that I’ve affectionately entitled “dodge the potholes that make you hate life”. You should try it sometime.

I can only suspect how funny I must look when I’m driving home late at night, swerving like a maniac to avoid even the slightest dips in the road. It’s a surprise that I don’t have more conversations with Johnny Law than I currently do.

The reason for this bumpiness is that my car has this racing suspension in it, which is made incredibly stiff for racing purposes. This works great for racetracks, and downright hellish for regular, big people roads.

This suspension highlights every single imperfection in the road, magnifying it to an almost unreasonable degree. It gives every grotto first chair, and every crater a four-minute solo. It’s quite beautiful really. My suspensions tangibly connects me to flaws and ugliness that most drivers don’t encounter.

But what’s why we buy cars with real suspensions, right? So that we don’t have to come face to face with every flaw that our American roads throw at is. It’s far more reasonable for us to attempt to smooth our ride than to repair every road to a smooth and consistent surface.

The problem is that our roads never seem to improve and we continue to become more detached form our world in the name of luxury.

I think I live my life like this sometimes.

I surround myself with as much padding as I possibly can to avoid having to come face to face with a lot of the world’s realities that frankly, seem too much to bear at times.

I don’t think that’s how humanity is meant to live.

I think we’re meant to feel the bumps, to interact with the crevices, to respond to an increasingly broken, messy, and sometimes heartbreaking world. How often do we, in our expensive shocks, heated leather, and massive sound system, dodge and drown out a world that so desperately longs for relationships?

Isn’t that the incarnation after all?