Finding Clarity in a Car with a Broken Radio

David, by Donatello

I recently acquired (as in bought) a new used car. My Honda Pilot had reached the 200,000 mile zone and has some strange technical issues, no doubt due to sensors and all this new-fangled technology. So I picked up a Kia Soul for the price of a song, and though it has its own set of quirks, I like it. One thing it lacks, however, is a radio.

I still drive the Honda one day a week to keep it healthy (cars need exercise as much as humans do) and yesterday I ran errands in the Pilot. It's strange though. After driving a car without a radio for the last eight or ten weeks, I'm discovering how inane the radio is. I've clearly become accustomed to the silence. Or at least, the absence of radio noise. It's a pleasure to be accompanied by the diversions in my mind.

For more than two decades I listened to audiobooks, which ended when the Honda's CD player went kaput. For the past couple years I've been listening to radio, but after a couple months without it, I've come to relish its absence. 

This newfound appreciation for silence has been a revelation. Driving my Soul, with only the hum of the engine and the rhythms of the road, feels like a mental reset. My thoughts wander freely—often accompanied by an internal soundtrack as backdrop.

It’s as if the absence of radio chatter has unlocked a quieter, more introspective space. The Honda’s radio now feels like an intrusion, or worse. Boring. There's almost nothing new. NPR has its agenda and set of "approved" messaging, AM talk radio stations have theirs, but it's all melted down. I’ve started to wonder if the constant noise was drowning out something more valuable: the chance to just be with my thoughts.

Programs urge, "Listen to me so I can tell you how to think." Others compete for your attention in order to deliver their sponsors' advertising. (Radio is free so someone has to pay, and that's what the advertisers do.)

Disclaimer: I stopped watching television when I turned 16 in 1968. It seemed so artificial and superficial in light of more profound issues we as a nation (and I as an individual) were dealing with.

This shift has me rethinking how I engage with my drives. I've decided to skip the radio repair altogether. It’s funny how a car bought for a steal, quirks and all, has led to this unexpected clarity. Perhaps the Kia’s lack of a radio isn’t a flaw but a gift, nudging me toward a quieter, more mindful way of moving through the world.