This I Believe

It’s 5:30am, still dark as we lock up the house and get into our car. I lean the passenger seat way back, settling in. My husband, Bob, sets his traveling coffee mug in the drink holder to his right, puts in a CD, and backs us out of the garage. Twenty minutes later, we see the sun beginning to ascend in the rearview mirror. We smile at each other, isn’t this beautiful? Bob can’t contain his glee, “We’re on a road trip, baby!”

Being in the car for long stretches of time inspires all manner of conversation. On this trip, Bob and I talk about politics, our families, whether we want children someday. We’re free, we don’t have to travel a set route, we can stop wherever and whenever we want. Once, early in our relationship, we drove back to Denver together after a Forth of July weekend trip to Telluride. About 3 hours into the drive I teasingly suggested a detour that would take us about 2 hours out of our way. “That means we won’t get home until about midnight,” Bob said. “I know,” I sighed. “And we both have to work tomorrow. Would be fun though.” Bob looked over at me from the driver’s seat, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Let’s do it.” I think I knew then that he was the man I wanted to marry.

Traveling forces me to think about what I most want to do – that minute, that hour – which leads inevitably to thinking about the next year, the next ten years. I love to walk around a new town, imagining my life there. Where would I drink my morning coffee? In which type of house would I live? Could I take a morning hike like this back home, and why don’t I ever wake up a little early to watch the sun rise?

I believe in dreaming. I believe in striving. Mostly, I believe in recognizing my power and celebrating life by making conscious choices about how I spend my time and my energy. A dazzling array of possibilities spreads before me, belying the fiction that my path is somehow fated. Yes, reality restricts wishing to some extent. I might want to be a rock star, but I don’t want to spend years putting together a band and trying to get noticed. Fine, I know I’ve thought through my options and decided not to pursue rock stardom; I can feel good about that as a choice when instead of selling out an arena I turn up the car stereo and sing at the top of my lungs.

Sometimes demands, from others and from myself, make it difficult to really think of my life as something I control and can change. Bills pile up, family members require attention, and the house always needs a deep clean. That’s when I know it’s time to jump in the car, hit the highway, and remember who’s in the driver’s seat.