Sophie was actually napping. Like, really napping. Not the fake-out nap where she's quiet for twelve minutes and then screams like she's being attacked by invisible bees. A real nap. And I had this audiobook queued up, a cup of cold coffee I'd reheated twice, and approximately ninety minutes of freedom stretching out before me like some kind of miracle.
I spent it listening to Abbi Jacobson process a breakup while driving across America alone. And honestly? It was exactly what I needed.
The Essay About Tucking In Shirts Hit Different
Look, I haven't tucked in a shirt since 2019. I'm in the season of life where my clothing choices are based entirely on "can I wipe a child's nose with this" and "does this hide the yogurt stains." But Abbi's whole chapter about how she started tucking in her shirts as some kind of adulthood pivot point? I felt that in my bones.
It's such a small, specific, ridiculous thing to write about, and yet she makes it feel like a genuine turning point in self-discovery. That's kind of her whole deal here. She takes these tiny moments—what she packed for the road trip, the hotels she stayed in, the weird thoughts you have when you're alone in a car for hours—and turns them into something that feels both deeply personal and weirdly universal. Still Life does something similar—small, quiet observations that somehow add up to something that stays with you for days. The essay "All The Incredible Things I Did Not Do" is basically a list of missed opportunities and roads not taken, and it shouldn't work as well as it does. But Abbi reads it with this mix of self-deprecation and genuine wonder that just... lands.
Heartbreak City Made Me Cry in the Target Parking Lot
Okay, technically I was in the school pickup line when I got to the chapter called "Heartbreak City," but I had to sit in the Target parking lot afterward to finish processing it. The chapter's about her first real love and the breakup that sent her on this whole cross-country trip in the first place. She doesn't name the person, doesn't give you the salacious details, just... talks about what it feels like when someone you built a life with suddenly isn't there anymore.
I've been married for nine years. My heartbreak days are behind me (knock on wood, throw salt over shoulder, whatever). But something about the way she describes the specific loneliness of being newly single—the weird quiet of an apartment, the way you forget you can't tell them about your day—it took me right back to my twenties. Made me want to text my husband something sappy, which I did, and he responded with a thumbs up emoji because he was in a meeting. Romance isn't dead, folks.
She Reads Her Own Work and It Actually Works
Here's the thing about author-narrated audiobooks: they're a gamble. Some writers can write but cannot speak out loud without sounding like they're reading a grocery list. Abbi Jacobson is not that. Her comedic timing is sharp—you can tell she's done this before (you know, the whole Broad City thing). But what surprised me was how well she handles the vulnerable stuff. She doesn't oversell the sad parts or undersell the funny ones. She just... talks to you. Like you're in the passenger seat of her car somewhere in New Mexico.
At six hours, this is a perfect length for those of us who can't commit to forty-hour epics. I finished it in about a week of nap times and car line waits. It's not a book that requires you to remember a complex plot or keep track of seventeen characters. You can pause it when your kid needs a snack, come back twenty minutes later, and pick right up.
The Rambling Is Kind of the Point (But Also Kind of Annoying)
I'll be honest—there are moments where this book meanders. Some essays feel like they needed another editing pass. She'll be making a really good point about identity or creativity and then veer off into a tangent about hotel room art that goes on just a bit too long. If you need tight, structured narrative, this might frustrate you.
But also... that's kind of what a solo road trip is, right? Long stretches of nothing punctuated by moments of clarity. The rambling felt authentic to me, even when I wished she'd get to the point faster.
Who This Is For (And Who Should Keep Driving)
This is a book for anyone who's ever sat in their car for an extra few minutes before going inside. For anyone who's wondered if the life they're living is the life they actually want. Skip it if you need a tightly plotted memoir with a clear arc and resolution—this isn't that.
Car Time Approved
If you want to spend six hours with someone funny and honest who's working through some stuff? Made me cry at school pickup. Worth it though.
