Letter to the Void: On Being Pulled Over While Existing

Dear Void,

Of course.

Of course this is the day I get pulled over.

A day where I already do not want to participate.

Where the energy is low.
The enthusiasm is missing.
The general sense of “yes, I am a functioning adult in a structured society” is… not fully online.

And yet…

here I am.

Driving.

With expired tags.
An expired license.
A folder of documents that suggest I am trying.

And then—

the lights.

I pull over immediately.

Because I am not chaotic.

I am just… behind.

And suddenly, I am shaking.

Not a little.

A lot.

Because this has been the scenario.

The one that lives quietly in the background of all of this paperwork nonsense.

The one that asks:

What if you can’t prove you belong here?

Not philosophically.
Not existentially.

But… officially.

And I’ve been watching the world.

The conversations.
The headlines.
The stories.

Where being able to prove you are here—legally, properly, correctly—

is everything.

So when he walks up—

calm, polite—

and says:

“You know I pulled you over because your registration is expired?”

Of course I know.

And I do what I always do.

I say:

“Well…”

And then I start pulling things out.

All the things.

The birth certificate.
The not-certified marriage certificate.
The certified version somewhere in transit.
The expired license.
The effort.

And I explain.

Not cleanly.
Not confidently.
A little tearfully.
A little… overwhelmed.

Because I am trying.

I am genuinely trying.

And he looks at me—

and he says:

“You’re okay.”

Just like that.

No lecture.
No escalation.
No moment of “prove it.”

Just—

you’re okay.

And something in me settles.

Because for a moment—

I am not a collection of documents.

I am not a missing certification.

I am not a problem to be solved.

I am just…

a person.

Having a day.

Trying to move through it.

He tells me to get it taken care of.

To be safe.

And I leave.

Still me.
Still slightly out of compliance.
Still in process.

But okay.

And I sit with that.

The fear I carried.
The story I expected.
The way kindness still surprised me.

Dear Void,

For all your games—

the missing objects,
the disappearing timelines,
the paperwork loops—

today you gave me something else.

A moment.

A pause.

A reminder that even inside the system—

there are still people.

So thank you.

For that.

And to the kind sir—

I am trying.

I promise.

With shaky hands,
a folder full of proof,
and a quiet exhale,

A fellow blip
still here
still becoming
still occasionally terrified
and still
somehow
okay
anyway

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