In my head there's a greyhound station.

Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place 
where they're far more suited than here

The road is slick and black. I turn my lights off and smile as the darkness wraps itself around my car. The comfort of the road floods over me as I click the lights back on. It’s cliché in the most cliché way possible. The world makes sense when I’m roaming. With my bags packed or boxes crammed into my backseat or just a contacts case and a toothbrush, I breathe in the midnight air, exhilarated. 

I’ve traveled great distances in search of something raw and tangible, something to quench the curiosity of my unquiet mind. In this search, loves were lost and found. Reactions to emotions were carefully chosen and planned. Realizations that there was nothing I could do to change my current course so I should cut my losses and move on were painfully exposed. This search is continual, ever changing and I’m starting to get restless again. 

Tonight music floats in this settled space as memories drift through my mind. That time I was a painter. The remnants of my not quite dry canvases are still all over the upholstery. That time I was a passionate lover and I expressed a love I never thought myself capable of showing. When I discovered the breadth of my desires and fears, sitting on the roof smoking, writing and singing at the top of my lungs. The conversations, of varying importance, with people I may or may not know anymore. All those riding partners I had to concerts, to family, to school, to nowhere (whether with me physically or on the phone). The gallons spent on friends and men. Those nights I just got in my car and drove because nothing else would satisfy me at one in the morning. That feeling that I own my destiny and the adventures ahead would be so much more beautiful than the ones before. 

This action toward an undefined place is what I know best. With all my thinking, analyzing and logical pursuits of what everything means, I find the most gratifying feeling in that of the undiscovered. The unexperienced. The unknown. I make decisions quickly and follow through because I want to be a woman of my word. I move 12 hours away to a city I’ve only known through short summer stays and Christmases. I go visit a boy that I barely know to see what he has to offer. I explore cities when I’ve told no one where I’ve gone because I’m experiencing familiar places, with a new love. These decisions were rash, but the road was open and mine. 

Tonight I’m traveling 15 minutes to a house that I once considered my home. I could drive the whole way there with my lights off. The steep drop of the road is familiar. I sometimes imagine this is what flying must feel like, free and reckless. I’ve been haunted by this route. I’ve been aching for a past that I no longer have any claim to. It’s not so much the exact details that I would like back, just the feelings. I’m yearning for something I can’t quite figure out. I was settled before. Content in my academic pursuits and the comfortable companionship of a lover/friend. Now that both are over, I second-guess myself. I go to a job that is mundane in the worst way possible. On a daily basis I take care of only myself. When I have free time I pay bills and do laundry. (This is the part where my dad would pipe-up and say… Welcome to being an adult!) Someone recently mentioned this feeling of…. apathetic melancholy is why some people do drugs, get married, have babies, buy expensive things or have religion. I have the road. 

And I know. I know that I wander because I always think things will be better somewhere else. I imagine all my bad habits and flaws will disappear. I think in one of these far away places I’ll find whatever it is I’m desperately looking for. And I know. I know that running away to a different location will not solve any of my problems. But it is one of the few comforts I know. Each trip teaches me more about people and life. The trips are like puzzle pieces scattered all over the world, on freeways and country roads, in mountains and cafes in major cities. Ultimately these pieces fit together and one day I’m hoping I can make sense of all the colors and shapes. For now, I’m left floating, scheming for the next trip that will show me a little more about the paths I should choose. I refuse to accept this phase as the inevitable. Anyone want to take a ride?