Home > Uncategorized > Notes from the road

Notes from the road

10:53 PM, 8 March 2009, Just North of South of the Border

I just was driving home from spending Spring Break in Savannah (during which Georgia seamlessly transitioned from winter to summer) and thinking back on the drive down. You see, my longtime romantic interest Mandy attends the Savannah College of Art and Design, so if it is not one of her breaks from school, she is a five-hour trip down I-95 away.

I’m actually beginning to lose count of the times I’ve made this trip, some solo and some with friends & family to help move her in and out of the dorm. But this latest trip, and particularly this return leg of the sojourn has brought home something I had only casually noticed before: the drive back to North Carolina is always easier — which is to say that it passes quicker.

This can be easily ascribed to not having anything to look forward to, which is true: I have about two hours more driving, and after that homework, class work, and work work awaiting me. However, on this particular occasion, I remembered something that hadn’t crossed my mind before.

A few months ago, when David, a newly found friend, was teaching me to shoot, he related an experience to me:

I was taking a precision rifle course some time ago, and I was having a miserable time. It was raining and had been raining long enough that you couldn’t find dry earth for half an hour in any direction: East, West, North, South, or down. And as I lay cold and soaking in the muck, trying to hit a target that was only visible with optics, I hated it.

But then, I came to love the moment. I stopped wishing that I was anywhere else and was suddenly utterly happy to be in that ditch for as long as I needed. I loved the moment, and I was happy to take all the time in this tiny little world of a moment line up my shot and hit the first time. I stopped being eager to pull the trigger because it would mean I could leave, and became eager to pull the trigger on a well-aimed shot because it was the only logical thing to do.

That seemed like a very powerful experience being retold, but I think only now can I truly understand, because this time, on this return trip, I have come to love the moment. I am not anxiously awaiting arriving home, just a David ceased to await pulling the trigger. For as long as I care to remember and as long as I care to look forward, I have been and will be driving. And I love it. That is the key.

Other thoughts: Bob named his recent musical collection after a roadside pitstop on the way from Columbia to Rock Hill along I-77, the modestly understated and somewhat ironically named Grand Central I-77. On my journey from Raleigh to Savannah, the best landmark is the sarcastically overstated South of the Border. I think I got gypped.

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