You know what path you're on. You feel hopeful that you can send some good ripples out into the world. You are immeasurably grateful. You can't wait to get out there, and for what you'll get to experience. And for whom you'll get to meet along the way.
You’re excited. You enjoy the sights, sounds. You make stops. You bask in the adventure. You’re always eager to get to your next milestone.
The longer you’re on the road, the more eager you become. After awhile, the eagerness starts to become anxiety.
Sometimes you’re not sure how long it will take to make it to the next gas station… so you drive even faster.
You start to miss things.
Sometimes the wheels are spinning so fast that you can’t figure out if you’re even on the right path.
There are other people on the road, people who come in and out of tandem with you. Some have been road buddies for a long, long time. Inevitably, you feel them start to drive off into other directions. You consider trying make them passengers, because you want them close. At some point you’re reminded that everyone needs to have their own car… including you.
Sometimes... sometimes you run something over by accident.
When that happens it scares you.
You STOP. You get out. You see tiny leaks. You see little patches where rust is slowly setting in. You see the residue from the muddy roads
fucking up your sassy shine. And even though that at this stage losing time has always felt like the last possible resort, you stop. You have to stop for a minute.
You enjoy the rest. You see how many things were slowing you down. You give extra love to all the areas that needed love. You know it was the right decision. And finally, when your belts are whirring happily again and your antifreeze is topped up, you notice something.
In the distance, a FUCKING FREEWAY has been built in your direction.
Time to get on that, then.