I don’t know much these days.
But this one thing I know. Someday, I shall live by a giant expanse of water with rocky beaches and old trees.
The above is from Cave Point in Door County, which is the bit of Wisconsin that juts out into Lake Michigan. It was beautiful and serene, and I did not want to return to St. Louis.
No, seriously, I cried in Illinois before we crossed the bridge. Not just crying, sobbing. I wanted to continue along with the tent and sleeping bags and borrowed camp stove. Forget the house, the weighty belongings, the job that I can’t stand, and just drive wherever the hell the road leads.
And suddenly, I feel like my mom. Coming home from a day trip to the closest big town, we would hit a stretch of road on the flattest bit of earth you will ever find. It would be just our car, the road, the cotton fields, and the hot shimmering air, and then she would whisper, Don’t you want to just keep driving forever? Let’s just keep going. I always felt so sad when she said that because I knew she didn’t want to go back to our house and the drudgery that had become her life.
If the gas fund was limitless, and I didn’t have these stupid obligations like a mortgage and bills, I would totally keep driving.