The first thing I did after getting my license? Speed down the highway, belting my little heart out to songs whose lyrics I could only really guess at. After all, the lyrics themselves don't matter. Neither does the pitch or even quality of what terrible sounds come out of my throat. I'm no singer, despite the two singing lessons I took when I was young and hopeful in middle school. But honestly, singing in the car without any concern for what neighbors or random strangers may think of you is nothing less than free therapy. Even after the roughest of weeks with a million different things stressing me out, I still manage to scream-sing until my throat is raw to anything I can find on the radio.
It may not be pretty, but it feels great.
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