In the summer of 1998, my family took a road trip.

Washington, D.C., was our destination and at one point during our excursion, my sister and two brothers were in comatose-like slumbers. I was the only kid up and alert, counting the number of trees we zoomed by.

I enjoyed gazing at the sky, the road and even the license plates of other drivers. It beat looking at rowhouses or vacant lots back in Camden, N.J..

My dad blasted his compilation CD with songs from '70s R&B groups like the O'Jays, the Isley Brothers, the Ebonys and Heatwave.

I giggled at his limited singing ability as he forced his baritone voice to tackle the soprano notes. I don't know if I laughed more at his screaming or at my mom's facial expressions while her eardrums were violated the entire drive.

This was years ago, and those trips don't happen anymore. Boy, do I miss them.

Even when trying to plan something as simple as brunch, everyone has to check their work and social schedules just to set a date and time.

When I was in college, contact with my family dwindled as articles and projects took all of my attention. I spoke to my parents about once a week and only talked to my siblings once a month, maybe less.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't have an absolute ball in college, but while there, I always felt fragmented.

I now see that the extended absence of my family caused some distress. Life was an elaborate free-for-all that boasted more mistakes than I'd like to talk about.

The Johnsons keep me grounded and give me a morally sound perspective on overcoming life's trials and stressors. Just when I think I have things figured out, they administer wisdom that makes me reconsider my thoughts.

Plainly, they know me.

As much as I try to save face and fix my own problems or even conceal them altogether, there's no hiding who I truly am.

Before selfies, lipstick, boys and bills, they knew my unfiltered aspirations, dislikes and characteristics.

They loved me before the world ever knew Zahara, so keeping a tight connection with them is critical to my well-being.

I find that too many outside influences, from friends, social media or the world in general, cause slight chaos in my life.

Being in touch morally and spiritually keeps my mind in the right place and off of distractions that pose a threat to my work ethic and subsequent success.

I pride myself on my relationship with my family because they are my therapists. They keep it real, regardless of how I may take it.

For instance, after having my third article published in b, my dad read it, and with his reading glasses perched atop his nose, sitting just below his fixed eyes, he said, "I noticed this article was shorter. Why is that? Did the editor tell you it had to be shorter?"

I laughed and assured him I just didn't have anything left to say on that subject. I thought to myself, "Dad notices the oddest things."

He then lectured me on how I should write every article like it was my last and never slack off when given such a considerable opportunity.

Take my sister, too. She is four years older than me and also gives me unadulterated truth when I don't want it.

She always tells me when I'm totally right, absolutely wrong or completely out of my mind. I haven't received that much truth from anyone else.

My family pushes me to be a better daughter, sister, writer, thinker and woman.

This summer, I hope to round up my family and embark on another road trip.

In the meantime, I'll ride around blasting the O'Jays and try to hit the same notes my dad struggled with.

Only thing is, I'll sound a little better.

Zahara Johnson's column appears regularly in b.