I was, actually, half-deathly afraid about falling asleep at the wheel on my drive home for Thanksgiving. It’s a five and a half hour drive from Stanford to Hermosa Beach–if you don’t get lost. My personal goal was to not create a nightmarish eight-hour ordeal. At the same time, I was absolutely excited for an enormous chunk of time with my favorite music, on my own, in constant forward motion. And the prize at the end of the freeway maze was going to be the irreplaceably familiar comfort of home.

But there was nothing to fear! My first solo adventure back to my abode by the beach was marred by neither a single wrong turn nor automobile mishap. It was so, so, so wonderful. The Thanksgiving break I had been anticipating for weeks started right as I stepped in the car (after breakfast at Mayfield Bakery in Town and Country–fabulous spinach and gruyere croissant, goodness!) and took the US-101 by storm. My car, which has become a mobile source of comfort for me this year, felt like an extension cord coming straight out from my house and taking me straight back. My specifically-designed “DRIVE1” playlist kicked off with house party remixes, breezed through bossa nova, charmed with the 60s, and wooed with my favorite indie rock: The result was a five-to-six hour in-car karaoke session. There was no room for drowsiness, and I honestly thank the heavens for that.

I knew well in advance that once I hit the 405 and passed my former employer The Getty Museum, I would be letting out a breath I’d been holding for 9 weeks. But really, that sensation sat with me in the car for the entire trip. I knew, though, that I had truly arrived home once the Pacific Ocean breeze swept right through the open windows and graced me with its familiar friendliness. I was definitely back home in Hermosa. (Plus, my car had gotten dazzlingly clean while passing through several mid-journey rain showers, which also produced a rear-view rainbow bonus.)

Comfort comes in so many forms, and we’ve all got our personal set of them. For me, as my time increases at Stanford, the SoCal I lived in during middle and high school has transformed into one of my world anchor points. And my anticipation of homecoming was so strong that I felt it as soon as the drive began. I wasn’t expecting fireworks on arrival, or a work-free week, or family members temporarily stopping their lives for me – that’s not where the comfort was going to come from. Rather, it was just reuniting with the notion of home and some loved ones I’ve missed. This particular thought, and recognizing recently all the various things that are good for me, has done wonders for my remembering how to breathe when suddenly I realize I’m not. Overall, it’s very, very good.