I like to drive.
I’m not so much a fan of destinations (when I am traveling, at least- in life is a whole different story). They’re fine, mind you, but… they’re just not as fun as the ‘getting there’ part. The via. So I enjoy it all the more when my finishing point is ‘nowhere’, when I can cruise aimlessly. When I can roll down the windows, crank up the volume, and sing along to whatever song is playing as I fly down the freeway. When I can try to take in the beauty buzzing by me while basking in it all nonetheless.
When I can just… drive.
Inevitably, however, I have to stop. Whether it’s because I’ve reached my destination or because it’s time to turn around and go home, there’s always a cessation to every journey- and to that feeling of freedom that accompanies me on the way.
When I do get to wherever I’m supposed to be, there’s always a part of me that wants to just keep going. To veer off the tracks at least a little, to see something new or go somewhere I’ve never been before. To explore. Discover. By stopping- settling- I always feel like I’m missing out on whatever lies just ahead. The road less traveled, where the grass is greener- whatever the cliché is.
It never seems so hard to do, in retrospect, but in the moment I can never find the strength of will to keep going. There is always something that pulls me back.
Often times what draws me away is the so-called sense of reality I’ve formed for myself- the reality that I am confined to whatever world I already occupy. The one where there is no room- and no logical reason- to press forward, because I am already adequately comfortable in this enclosure I’ve inhabited. Because, supposedly, where I am is where I am supposed to be.
Other times I get hesitant. Reluctant. Tentative. Sometimes I just get lazy.
I think I feel the same way about my writing. At times, it is my favorite thing to do. There are moments when I hit grooves and my words flow perfectly out of my mind, meshing effortlessly with each other to form something beautiful and profound and meaningful. But then I hit spells where I am almost timid- where what I choose to say is so different than what I want to say. Where I end up not saying anything at all.
I feel the same way about many things. Heck, I feel the same way about life.
I mean, how often am I prevented from doing something merely by my own unwillingness to take initiative? How many times do I have to keep second-guessing something that is so plainly clear-cut and laid out in front of me before I can decide to just do it? To allow the temptation to take me, to jump into something that just might add some completely new and dynamic and delectable piquancy to my existence? Something that might end up satisfying my wildest, most fantastic desires?
Ironic how the things that might make me happiest are the things I am most reluctant to do, isn’t it?
Maybe that’s life’s way of telling me something. Maybe wanting to take those steps means understanding that I need to start somewhere. Like seeing what’s out there. Like traveling down those roads. Allowing myself to be brave.
Having faith.
Going.
One of these days, maybe.
.
(…I did, however, finish a whole bag of Cheetos during my drive home today. With no napkin. Because I do like to live on the wild side from time to time.
So that’s almost the same.)
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Now playing: Jeff Bernat – If You Wonder
via FoxyTunes
