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eating almond butter at a reststop on the side of route 80. flurries falling as i sit and wonder what the hell am i doing. first day of the rest of my life i imagine. something is mighty surreal about all this. i almost wish i could be at some side road coffee house, tea in hand, sun shining as i sit and converse with a local, chatting and filling me with wonders of the hawaiian lifestyle. but just as fleeting as the thought was i quickly find myself back at the rest stop on the side of route 80 heading west…
rest stop number two. further along, further west. i tell you truckers have it made. always traveling. but then again they are traveling to point b, they do have a destination, and i'd like to believe that i don't necessarily need a destination, a particular point on the map that i must get to. i marvel at the beauty of the open road. the vastness. the free flowing motion of just being, of just experiencing. each small moment all its own. the wonder of living without any particular destination. i'm just hoping there's at least one trucker out there who feels the same way…
ate at subway, denied myself a tasty looking chocolate chip cookie, and stole some hot water from the truck stop. well, is it really stealing if its just hot water? one shouldn't even ponder such mundane issues anyway, for it is better to enjoy a trucker stop in all its glory, guilt or lack of guilt and all. leather jackets, video games, how to retire from truckerhood cds, and amish cookbooks. you couldn't ask for a better mix. the beauty of living outside of your comfort zone, of setting foot outside your safezone…explore and observe. learn how to make some amish snickerdoodle while you're at it too…
and so i stood there in awe of my finds when i turn for a brief moment to hear “well good morning to you”. with as little as a hello from my own voice there is that second moment of eye contact, quizical grins and a connection. then i wonder “wait, but it's the afternoon”, and in chit chatting mind talk wonder if that was a rude remark because i did not speak up first. for how rediculous the mind can be. how fast to react. to assume. but i break through. continue on. glances. and then i wait and he waits. and then i leave. peering at his license plate as i crawl away, “Oklahoma”. all the while as i head back onto route 80 peering through my rearview mirror as he stays there waiting. maybe i should have stayed. maybe i should have said something. but it wasn't necessary. for there was some connection. some unspoken words, thoughts, that will forever remain unsaid. for there is beauty in this, this silent interlude, of two people whose paths crossed for a brief moment, along on their journeys…so Oklahoma, wherever you may be, enjoy your journey and maybe i'll see you again…
as i heard on the radio, “here's to the past, it could kiss my ass.” and that's all i have to say about that…
a sign on the side of the road reads “buckle up next million miles”, but surrendering to the bladder and stopping along the stretch of road that in all good travels feels like a million miles, i glance up to the right of me to find a giant rocking chair, placed so proudly on the side of a small hill of western pennsylvania. i'm kind of awed by this, wanting, like a curious child, to go and climb up onto it, but because of my growing tiredness i quickly brush away that thought and make my way into yet another truck stop. skulls, indian sculptures, and ashtrays in the bathroom this time grace my presense. so Dorothy, you are no longer in kansas anymore. it is a humbling experience, feeling out of context, amid massive rocking chairs and truck stops that tout having america's worst apple pie. so passing up on this so called bad apple pie, i continue on, realizing that it's good to be away from kansas once in awhile…
darkness has well set in and i become quite hungry. not being able to ignore the hunger pangs any longer i stop once more. a truck stop diner at 11pm. i order eggs and cooked veggies wanting to remain prudent to my healthy eating habits to find in front of me eggs and cooked veggies drenched in butter. oh well. i am hungry. so as i sit there eating i catch out of the corner of my eye someone standing there. so i look up. a trucker. wanting to join me, perhaps buy me a cup of coffee. i am leary at first. i mean it is ingrained in our heads from a young age that we should not talk to strangers especially when it's dark. but i laugh at that thought and brush it aside. i extend a hand. offer my friendship. we sit. we talk. we laugh. by the end of our chance meeting we are embracing. sharing a hug before we venture off along our separate ways. a fellow kindred sprit. the trucker i was hoping to find…
it's funny how you meet certain people in the strangest of places. not just random people, certain people, certain people who are meant to come into your life at that particular moment, in that particular place, at that particular time. and you can't go out searching for them. you can't expect these seemingly chance meetings to happen when you think they should happen. it all just happens. that's the magic of it, the beauty of it. so when it happens let it happen. enjoy the moment, or moments, you share together, learn and teach, be present at that very time. listen to the message they are sending you…
so i continue on. on the road to nowhere in particular…
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