The great thoughts come when my hands are on the wheel. Alone in the car, lost in a sad song, flooded by melancholy and the truth that bubbles from it. I ask Siri to take a note, but of course, that doesn't work. And I'm trapped by traffic and the bother of pulling over. However, the phrase sticks. And when I can, I tap it into my iPhone, ready to swipe at an opportune time. But when I revisit the words, they’re stale. There's no heat. I can't resurrect the meaning, the weight I felt alone in the car. But that unformed notion did what it was supposed to do. That moment, that grief was the art and the healing. It was meant for me.