Imagine yourself nestled into the backseat footwell of a car from the early 80s, curled up with the familiar hum of the engine surrounding you. It’s not the safest place to rest now, but back then, it was different. Seat belts were just becoming standard, and for a child, the backseat floor was a cozy, secret space-a world apart from the adult world up front. The rhythmic, low rumble of the motor and the subtle, constant vibrations through the floor would lull you into a deep, unbreakable sleep. The gentle sway of the car as it moved along endless roads added to the comforting, cocoon-like effect, holding you in place, safe and warm in a way that only a child would know. The road noises blend into a sort of timeless, meditative rhythm, and you’d drift further and further away, only vaguely aware of the lights flickering by outside the window. It was as if you were inside a soft, low drone of sound and movement, without a care in the world. You felt utterly protected by the bubble of your family’s voices, muffled but steady, coming from the front seat. As the car carried you forward, you slipped easily into a deep sleep, unlike any other kind of rest-a sleep that belonged only to those moments on the road. Then there were the airplane flights. There you’d lay curled up, nestled in the floor by your family’s feet, making a tiny sanctuary within the hum of jet engines. As the plane pushed through the sky, the vibrations and sounds melded together, making you feel part of the vastness, yet somehow wrapped up and cozy. The engine’s steady, powerful noise created a kind of sonic blanket, a low-frequency lullaby that drowned out all distractions and lulled you deeply. The airplane cabin, with its dimmed lights and gentle hum, turned into a drifting, airborne cradle. These were the places where you slept as a child-somehow freed from the everyday world, carried by the soft machinery of travel and the warmth of family. This is my story. What is your's?
Imagine yourself nestled into the backseat footwell of a car from the early 80s, curled up with the familiar hum of the engine surrounding you. It’s not the safest place to rest now, but back then, it was different. Seat belts were just becoming standard, and for a child, the backseat floor was a cozy, secret space-a world apart from the adult world up front. The rhythmic, low rumble of the motor and the subtle, constant vibrations through the floor would lull you into a deep, unbreakable sleep. The gentle sway of the car as it moved along endless roads added to the comforting, cocoon-like effect, holding you in place, safe and warm in a way that only a child would know.
The road noises blend into a sort of timeless, meditative rhythm, and you’d drift further and further away, only vaguely aware of the lights flickering by outside the window. It was as if you were inside a soft, low drone of sound and movement, without a care in the world. You felt utterly protected by the bubble of your family’s voices, muffled but steady, coming from the front seat. As the car carried you forward, you slipped easily into a deep sleep, unlike any other kind of rest-a sleep that belonged only to those moments on the road.
Then there were the airplane flights. There you’d lay curled up, nestled in the floor by your family’s feet, making a tiny sanctuary within the hum of jet engines. As the plane pushed through the sky, the vibrations and sounds melded together, making you feel part of the vastness, yet somehow wrapped up and cozy. The engine’s steady, powerful noise created a kind of sonic blanket, a low-frequency lullaby that drowned out all distractions and lulled you deeply. The airplane cabin, with its dimmed lights and gentle hum, turned into a drifting, airborne cradle.
These were the places where you slept as a child-somehow freed from the everyday world, carried by the soft machinery of travel and the warmth of family.
This is my story.
What is your's?