There’s something about being alone on a road that really gets me. Something about the possibility stretched out in front of you that, no matter what the surroundings are, is beautiful.
I suppose it’s because this past year, I’ve had a hard time seeing progress in my life that makes feeling the literal sense of moving forward so desirable to me. I had been struggling with my choice of major and profession.
I don’t know if you knew this before, but I used to be a pre-pharmacy student. I used to like the straight road; the one without a scenic route; the one with exits few and far in between; the one with a speed limit like that of the Autobon.
Although there are no right or wrong roads, that one wasn’t the one for me. I felt trapped on that path, with only one clear destination; I didn’t even know if I wanted to end up at that destination.
I took the next exit and never looked back.
The road I’m on now is a gentle, winding road. A clear path, an unclear destination, but the knowledge that I will get somewhere. One with a lower speed limit, a scenic route if I so choose, and has the possibility of leading to multiple destinations.
It doesn’t matter if I stop for a long time at a certain rest stop. It doesn’t even matter which road I take, for there are many. It doesn’t even matter that I may end up at a different point than I expected. All that matters is that I am moving, that I’m learning—living—experiencing.