Ghost in the Passenger Seat – Story Behind the Lyrics Review

A few weeks back, I wrote an emotional article about something I didn't expect to stumble into at all—Carl Jung. More specifically, his concept of individuation. 

What began as casual curiosity turned into a surprising journey of anger, tears, and reflection. That article, written on December 7th, explored how accidentally "tripping into" Jung's work cracked open feelings I didn't know were still waiting to be acknowledged.

Since writing that article, something shifted. 

The intensity of those emotions softened—not because they disappeared, but because I moved forward with them rather than resisting them. 

That forward movement led me to write several lyric videos, each touching on personal growth and inner awareness. The one I'm sharing today, Ghost in the Passenger Seat, comes from that next step forward.

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Behind My Lyrics  To "Ghost In The Passenger Seat"

I wrote these lyrics on December 19th, 2025, and I wasn't planning on writing them at all. 

I've been writing since 8 years old (1968), and most of the time words just fall into my head, fully formed, and I have to get them out. 

The process takes hours—writing the lyrics, creating the artwork, and putting together the lyric video. Currently, I'm doing it all myself. So it's a huge production for me; however, it's rewarding.

Once I start, I feel a strong need to finish the project entirely, sometimes writing and working for eight to ten hours straight. Thank goodness for my Cubii—my under-desk exercise machine—so I can keep moving while writing. 

Even so, I'm often emotionally spent the next day because projects like this pull a lot out of me. But the fun of creating and the need to deliver the message always overrides the drain.

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Exploring the Shadow Self

This song explores another well-known Jungian concept: the shadow self. The parts of us shaped by past pain, fear, shame, or survival—the parts we'd rather ignore, bury, or pretend don't exist. 

Jung believed we don't heal by rejecting these parts, but by acknowledging and integrating them. The shadow doesn't go away just because we refuse to look at it. It comes along for the ride whether we like it or not.

In Ghost in the Passenger Seat, the shadow self is personified as a ghost—sometimes called the "ghost self." She sits in the passenger seat of a car, traveling everywhere the woman goes. The car becomes a metaphor for life's journey, and the passenger seat becomes the space where unhealed parts demand attention. 

The lyrics tell the story of realizing that healing doesn't mean banishing the ghost—it means recognizing her, listening, and eventually allowing her to move out of the front seat, to sit quietly in the back, happy that she's been acknowledged.

I intentionally chose light, bouncy music to carry a serious theme. I like contradictions like that. 

When subjects become too heavy, hope can get lost in the weight of the message. 

I feel that by pairing a meaningful topic with an upbeat, almost playful tone, the song becomes more approachable—an invitation rather than a lecture. Healing doesn't always have to sound sad to be real.

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Final Thoughts: Healing, Creativity, and the Journey

The shadow self is a complex and timely subject. Carl Jung's work has found renewed attention as more people search for meaning, healing, and self-understanding beyond surface-level positivity. 

This song is my way of engaging with that conversation—honestly, thoughtfully, but lightly. It's a reminder that even heavy truths can be approached with creativity, metaphors, and hope.

I hope you enjoyed the lyrics—and the lyric video—as much as I enjoyed bringing this story to life.

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50 Years of My Poems and Lyrics are on Amazon, Where Available.

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🎵 ©DragedaPoemsLyrics (B.T.C) - Original Lyrics. | Licensed Digital Composition (Commercial Rights Held) for Music and Vocals

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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Tripping Into Carl Jung: A Journey of Anger and Tears I Didn't Expect

 

How I Found Carl Jung (Or How He Found Me)

Lately, I've been tripping over Carl Jung videos—or more accurately, the algorithms on my social media seem determined to hand them to me. 

At first, I would scroll past quickly, recognizing the name but not feeling any real connection to it. Then one day, something made me pause. I watched one short, then another, and before I knew it, I was engulfed in the powerful narrative-style video presentations. Snippets of his writings, reflections, and interpretations—layered with voiceovers that somehow went straight to the center of me. 

It felt less like stumbling onto something new and more like something familiar tapping me softly on the shoulder. Something I was meant to hear now, at this time in my life.

Who Was Carl Jung?

I'll be honest: I had to go look up his credentials. We all know the name, but I didn't know the years he lived or the full weight of who he was. 

Carl Jung (1875–1961) was a Swiss psychiatrist and the founder of analytical psychology. His work reached far beyond traditional psychology, exploring dreams, symbols, mythology, spirituality, and the unconscious. 

He gave us concepts like archetypes, the shadow self, synchronicity, and one of his most profound ideas: the journey of individuation. Once I started reading more about him, everything I'd been watching began to connect in a way that felt eerily personal.

Individuation: The Message That Stopped Me Cold

Of all the Jung videos I've watched, the one that stopped me cold was about individuation. 

Jung described it as the lifelong process of becoming your true self—the self you were meant to be before life, expectations, obligations, or other people guided you off course. 

The video explained individuation as a kind of "going home," not to any physical place, but returning to the inner self you were originally designed to grow into. And that struck me deeply. 

At 65, I can feel myself moving in that direction—not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, profound way. I wish I could remember every word from the video, because the message landed with such force. What stays with me is the recognition that I am finally circling back to who I was meant to be all along. It's a combination of bravery, but not really bravery, and anger.

I found this eBook on Amazon about Carl Jung's "Individuation."  - Note, I haven't read it; I included it for anyone interested.

The Pull Away, and the Pull Back

What unsettled me most was how clearly Jung's message mirrored my own life. 

From childhood onward, it was so easy to be pulled off course—into other people's ideas of who I was, what I should do, who I should become. 

I remember being seen as delicate, even though I knew I was anything but. I wasn't upset by the misunderstanding; I was puzzled by it. I knew that wasn't me, even if I didn't yet know how to show who I truly was. Flash forward to today, my best friend often reminds me how strong I am. She sees me.

And Jung's explanation—that our original direction can be interrupted or reshaped by the world—made me see how far I had drifted without even realizing it. 

Yet here I am, decades later, feeling a powerful pull back toward the girl I was at five—the girl who instinctively knew who she was!

I'm Trying Not to Be Angry - This is Personal, But I Have to Say I'm Dealing With That Feeling Right Now

I'm trying not to be angry, because I'm not an angry person. I don't believe in living in an angry space.

Truly, I don't carry anger or fear around with me. I feel it when it happens, and let it go, as I will with this anger. Psalm 23 repeats in my mind constantly, and it saves me.

But these Jung videos stirred something that surprised me. Not anger toward anyone—not my parents, not the world—but something closer to grief mixed with frustration. 

Anger at myself. And yet, how can I be angry at a five-year-old child who simply loved, and wanted, and felt the need to play the piano?

At five years old, the piano felt natural to me. My teacher made sure to let my mother know that I had a gift. But when we moved away to another province, my parents were focused on building a life. 

When my mother said we couldn't afford a piano—and I couldn't take lessons without one—I felt THEIR stress immediately. We had previously lived with my mother's parents, who had a piano.

So even though the piano awakened my soul, I didn't insist. I didn't plead. It wasn't in my nature to burden anyone. And so the piano-playing version of me slipped quietly out of existence.

But the writing version of me never left. 

From eight years old onward, the poems, lyrics, and lines that arrived in the middle of chores, or in quiet moments, just kept coming. From humor to world events to parents to made-up lyrics, it was all penned to paper.

They're collected in my book We Will Have Morning Smiles—fifty years of my world in words. And now, as I put those words to music—finally allowing them to breathe in the way I now know they were meant to—I can't help but think that if piano had stayed in my life, I might have been doing this decades sooner.

Here's how I'm dealing with lost time: I've created a Time-Traveling version of me (lol, that creative side just won't leave) - You can check out the two "Back to the Future" shorts I've created so far. They're on this playlist from YouTube:

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The next curveball came after high school. 

In high school, I was accepted into three universities for psychology, a field I had long wanted to pursue. But again, I was talked out of it. Steered elsewhere. Redirected. It only lasted a year before life pulled me into yet another path that wasn't mine. 

So yes, I do feel angry at myself for letting others steer me: friends, family, men, expectations, interpretations. I'm legitmately p*ssed.

And yet, through Jung's lens, I now understand that this reckoning is part of the return journey. Part of going home to myself.

I don't want to leave this earth, when it's finally my time, without becoming my truest, most whole self. That self is the one who writes. The one whose words are her spirit and her soul. 

The one who puts those words to music, spoken voice, or anything else that lets them live. I want to leave that behind. Every last piece of who I really am.

I need to return home, to me. And most of all, forgive everything, everyone, especially myself.

If you'd like to listen to my words, put to music, here's a playlist of what I've completed so far of the hundreds of lyrics and poems I've written over nearly 57 years. Every song includes information about when the words were written and the story behind them. "Measures" is my most recent, written at 64. I'm sharing work from 1968 (I was 8 then) til today, and tomorrow's words that are yet to come.

In closing, I'm reminding myself that it is THIS life that I lived, not the one I thought I should have, that inspired these poems and lyrics. And, my children are the best reason I took this path. 

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🎵 ©DragedaPoemsLyrics (B.T.C) - Original Lyrics. | Licensed Digital Composition (Commercial Rights Held) for Music and Vocals

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

FOLLOW US ON: