Life in the "Why Do You Do That?" Lane
We had an awfully weird summer, weather-wise, and I'm posting this a few weeks later than I meant to. I could blame the strange weather, or a visiting sister whose weeks extended through Labour Day week. Not that anything was her fault--I'm a (mostly) responsible (mostly) adult.
Truthfully, I've been juggling projects while keeping an eye on the weather. I did get started on ONE painting project on a sunny day this week, but the other may need to wait another year. And do we, or do we not, replace our gas grill's propane tank? It ran out last week--realistically, how many more times will we grill outdoors before the autumn seriously arrives? (None, unless we get a new propane tank!)
However. I’ve been thinking about many things recently, writing- and life-wise. August and early September brought many out-of-the-ordinary experiences. Traveling, for one. Goofing off, for another.
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| Sometimes a long, slow journey is a beautiful thing. |
As a result of a family wedding anniversary and the trip to pick up and drop my sister, I spent more time than usual on interstates and expressways, and I noticed something.
A lot of people seem to want to drive at the same speed I’m driving. And they want to do it in front of me. Kind of just barely in front of me, in fact.
They don’t want to drive substantially faster than I do. Sometimes they really want to drive more slowly than I do. But either way, they want to do it in front of me--or sometimes beside me, where they either hang in my blind spot or ensure that I'm hanging in theirs. Why, I don’t know. The whole thing is just puzzling.
This attitude--both of the other drivers, and my noticing and being bothered by it--is not just about highways, of course.
It shows up elsewhere in life. Aaalllllll the competitions. Busyness, achievement, “getting ahead” in ways sometimes measurable but also sometimes metaphorical.
But is there a "there" there? Isn't that old saying true, that the grass really IS greener? Wherever you go, whatever mountain you summit, you get a new view—a new destination, even if it's not a higher mountain. Just, you know, more road. Someplace you’d rather be.
Whatever the other drivers were up to, I got everywhere I needed to go. I wasn’t even late.
Being me, I’m now trying to take this as a metaphor for the rest of my life too. I’m not sure exactly what I mean by that, but it's worth asking whether I need to be so focused on arriving someplace. What if I get there, it's not the arrival I imagined, and I haven't even enjoyed the trip?