I spend a lot of time in my car, alone, with the music humming softly. Going nowhere while somehow going everywhere. I’ve been driving the same route since May, at the very least. Making the same turns with no destination in mind other than returning home eventually. I’m always returning home. I stop at the same traffic lights. I watch the gas station’s prices fluctuate. I pass the same people, sitting in the same places, and sometimes wonder if they think of me in my car passing them at the same place at the same time.
In a way, my affinity for driving aimlessly comes from wanting to be propelled forward. The last three years have felt in slow motion. Each time I try to move forward, I am met with difficulty, as if I’m trying to force something I shouldn’t.
When I’m driving, I’m not thinking of the time I’m wasting. I live with a clock ticking in my ear. Each moment that passes is a reminder of each moment I have wasted. I’m worried that I will look back on all the time that has passed with empty hands.
I’m told, “What is for you will not miss you,” and while I find the idea endearing, whenever it is said, my ears burn. In my mind, where I’m at is not meant for me. At least not anymore. At some point, we outgrow the place we are, even if it’s where we want to be. I have outgrown this place, and it’s not where I want to be.
In the meantime, I will continue to drive my aimless routes with the hope it will propel me into the things that are supposedly meant for me.
*Happy Holidays, friends. I hope wherever you are, and whoever you are with, brings you joy. xx B