When I was a teenager we used to drive the back roads at night. Nice and slow, listening to country gold. There was no reason to be in any kind of hurry because we were merely waiting. We were always waiting. Finding things to occupy our time while we waited for life to come to us. While we waited for eighteen years old. While we waited for Marine Corps boot camp. While we waited for college. Always looking forward.
Now in my thirties I never feel like I’m waiting on anything. I’m always moving toward something. I’m always trying to make something happen. Sure, that’s worked out for me so far but it feeds a sense of nostalgia for a more simplistic time when I had the luxury of simply waiting.
Rolling along those gravel roads never felt like a waste of time. It never felt like I was missing an opportunity. It was merely an activity to keep me occupied. Something to do while adult life slowly worked its way to me. Now, for better or worse, I feel as though everything I move toward only takes me farther away from an ability or the opportunity to guiltlessly preoccupy myself. I haven’t found a replacement for the slow drive on the dirt road.