Being stuck in Florida for a weekend has some advantages. It's
probably not going to snow and since its February I'm pretty sure
hurricanes aren't going to be a problem. It's probably not going to freeze or
require the use of a coat or a jacket for that matter.
Pretty sure there's a beach nearby and
both an ocean and a gulf. There's lots of places to take go for a walk and
there will be a time for introspection should the need arise.
The problem with being stranded anyplace
for a weekend means another couple of days of quality lost time with family and
friends.
Last year I was out 189 days, which was
the first time I haven't broken 200 days. My record is 300. My average year is
around 220 days.
There are many times when one more hour on
the road is more than I can stand. But there are days when the
road beckons. When the distance horizon calls out to me demanding to meet.
Pulling towards the next horizon. Many times when the hum of wheels on the
pavement is a birding lullaby that drags me forward the brake pedal never a
thought. The radio on or off. Windows down and fresh air lapping against my
face the smells of smog and exhaust are almost like a drug.
When the smell of fresh cut grass from
roadside workers filters across my nose, reminding of my own lawn and the
tending that it requires. Lost in my own head my thoughts ping ponging from one
thought to the next. Subjects coming and going my synapses firing. My eyes
covered with images and the road in front of me is just background noise.
My GPS is on but I'm not really watching
it. My exit goes by I am only faintly aware I've missed it. I am consumed with
random thoughts or working a problem from front to back. The highway and the
cars around me filtered from my eyes. I am carried away to other distant places
and long forgotten times.
If you're watching you to see the
cascading memories filter across my brow occasionally making it past my eyes.
The emotions playing across my face. A smile, a frown mixed with bursts of
laughter. Conversations only I can hear replaying on a loop.
When I'm near a downtown I see exits I've
seen elsewhere. Attractions the locals think are unique to their
little hamlet unaware the same places exist everywhere else the names
different but the concept the same.
Blue collar bars and gentleman's
clubs. Cities bathed in a neon hue. Pick up joints and playgrounds. Downtown
concerts and art galleries. Moths to the flame. Young and old running about in
4-wheeled metal coffins, their windows up lost in their own worlds.
All of it, I've seen in a thousand cities
and blue collar towns. Working women in sling back heels and mini skirts their
worlds apart from the passing cars. Boys in the hood standing on street
corners. Living and working in an underground economy. Despair and thousand
yard stares.
Men in buttoned down suits walking on
the promenade. Their hands filled with phones and briefcases, each of them
move up and out in the world. Their worlds consumed with thoughts of power and
politics.
Main street and MLK Blvd every city has
them. Traffic jams and parking garages are the big city drive. Sports talk
radio and techno mix radio stations filling the same dead air with the same
nasally drowned out disk jockeys. Irritating morning zoos.
It's 8 to 5 and its a grind. But for the
road warrior its 24/7. 365 our grinds never stop. Hotels and motels. Drive
through fast food. Morning, noon and night the road warrior never stops.
Airports and rental cars we navigate the world easily. Passports for foreign
lands and different time zones. Every week our grind never stops.
When I come through the door, I am filled
with overwhelming pride and joy. My kids are bigger, stronger and more happy
than the last time I saw them. My wife more beautiful than I remember. And for
a few hours there is just us. We are a family again and I never want to leave.
My conscience is riddled with guilt over not spending the needed time
at home. Sadness descend Saturday afternoon because I know
my precious time at home is drawing to a close. Soon I am going to
have to prepare them again for my Monday morning departure.
And when I do I hurt inside as their
little faces drop and smiles fade. I live for them and tell myself I am
providing a better life for their future. I always wonder at what cost. God,
how I hate the road. And in that moment all I want to do is chuck it and fuck
it. At this moment I regret ever starting down the life of a road warrior.
Because now I fear there is no turning back. I watch my kids grow up in cell
phone pictures and I hate myself for it.
My attention turns to the woman I love and
who I am unquestionably devoted to. So thankful I am for her entry into my
life. 10 years pass and I can't remember a time when she wasn't a part of my
life. So good and pure that I feel naked and exposed. A sense of failure and
dread overcome me. I know my time away takes a toll on her. And I love her all
the more for all that she does. I stand in wonder and admiration because I know
she is stronger, tougher and better than I. How she does it, I will never know
because she grinds is 24/7 365. My heart burst with pride because she does so
much. Our kids a reflection of all that she is. I know I don't deserve her, but
am so grateful she stands with me. Beside me she lifts my spirits gives me the
strength I need. I move to embrace her. To hold her and love her. I never
want to let go.
On weekends we cram 7 days into 48 hours.
It's time to decompress, but not too much because the road starts to beckon the
rush of that unseen horizon starts to pull like a magnet. I am again a moth to
the flame.
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