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Back Roads April 22, 2011

Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I imagine these uber-successful, fast-paced, fast-lane people to speed along at a cool 90 mph on the highway. The highway of life. Their hair blows ‘just so’ by the wind filtering through open windows, they never hit pot holes, no debris attaches itself to their attennas, and when they smile at you their super-white teeth actually sparkle. They were football athletes and cheerleaders in school, attended the finest universities, drive foreign-made cars, have the perfect Stepford wife, and two-point-five kids. And Fido. Can’t forget Fido.

The Fast Track. To me, it’s a boring track on which you always know exactly where you are going. You pass the same neighbors, dine on repetitive wine, and wake every day at 4:30am like…well, like clockwork. And maybe they prefer it that way. To each their own, I always say, and I don’t judge.

My path, however, is quite different. The path I have been on has been a winding, pebbled back road. I don’t take the highway, indeed I don’t even veer towards it. I prefer the back roads. Is it unwise or even unconventional to feel nomadic in a world where the ‘great, wide open’ has become a myth? A folktale? Lore? I don’t want to stop and smell the roses — I want to lay in them. Red ones, white ones or, even better, yellow roses. I want to watch the lazy drift of fat white clouds as they skirt across the sky. I want to listen to the birds as they call to me, the intruder, and pretend I am unconcerned about bees as they buzz near my head. And I’ll take my sunglasses off just so I can really see the sun. See the light, notice where it falls.

I enjoy learning about life. Not because doing so will get me ahead, since I’m more focused on living rather than the life I hope to one day have, but because knowing things attaches me to life. Grounds me. And I  feel, every day, that I belong here in this world. I want to see life. Experience it. So that one day, on my death bed, I will truly know what it is I am leaving behind. I do not want to rush through it — I want to meander. On back roads.



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