Final Thoughts...for now
Although I am no longer committing to weekly essays, writing is my jam and I have lots of thoughts, so don’t be surprised to see me pop up in your inbox occasionally. Those of you who are paid subscribers will have your payments paused indefinitely on my end, so you won’t be charged moving forward.
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I had to be up in Greenville, PA on Tuesday. For those not from these parts, it’s an hour and forty-minute drive from where I live. To get there, I drove through areas that are a hybrid of working middle-class, America’s poor and farm country - not atypical for rural Pennsylvania.
Once I got off the interstate, I spent most of the drive in silence. I know I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the road, but my eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar sights. The appliance store in the middle of nowhere on a two-lane winding road with a 55-mph speed limit. Small farms with barns from bright red to broken down. Corn shoots in fields that extended as far as I could see. So many manufactured homes.
I encountered a tractor on the road pulling bales of hay with two unhappy teenage boys perched atop the trailer. People walking to their destination in the heat because there is no public transportation. Farmer Joe using an ATV to get to the top of his pasture. RVs parked in driveways and a lot of above-ground pools.
There was the occasional corner store that sold everything from milk to gyros. A lot of yard signs showing an optical illusion of the word Jesus.
One grocery store in thirty miles. And surprisingly, not a ton of Trump signs.
What occurred to me as I meandered is how married all of us are to our sense of normal. From my roof deck, I see the Edgar Thomson Steel Works, a sprawling steel mill that spans 250 acres, and behind it the largest roller coaster at Kennywood. I regularly drive through highly populated areas, some with mansions, others with abandoned houses and very few with RVs parked in in anyone’s driveway.
No matter where I go, I pass at least a dozen stores from grocery and pharmacy to clothing and thrift. And almost as many restaurants. I call it civilization. Folks “up yonder” would probably call it harried, hurried and crazy.
While I couldn’t live that far outside a city and be content, I no longer judge those who do. When I was younger, I’d make snarky comments and assume that everyone who lived that way had to be less intelligent. I don’t know if wisdom comes with age, but the ability to see other perspectives has.
On the way home, I was chatting with a friend (don’t worry, it was on Bluetooth) and overshot the exit for 79, the interstate I needed to get home. By the time I realized that nothing looked familiar, I was about fifteen miles past it.
I pulled off at the next exit and Fake Siri (my nickname for Google Directions) set a new course. There was no place to pull over, nothing but curvy country roads with no shoulder, and by the time I made it to a tiny town where I could check my phone, the screen told me I’d be home by 5:28 pm. It was 3:40.
Almost another two hours to get home and I’d already been on the road for an hour? It was going to take me twice as long to get home as it did to get to my appointment. But I was past the tipping point. It would take me longer to retrace my steps and get back to my missed exit.
Another opportunity from the Universe to practice being in the moment. (Please be careful when you create intentions. In order to get better at something, you need lots of opportunity to practice). I put the phone on the console and off I went.
The views were so different than on the way up.
I crossed the Allegheny River further upstream than I’ve ever been and drove though a town called Parker, which proclaims to be the smallest city in the USA. Buttressed against the shimmering waters of the river, its heyday was during the oil boom of the 19th century. Now it offers outdoor adventure types plenty of river magic with boat launches and kayak rentals.
The other side of the river was dotted with giant rocks resting on the banks and behind them a dense forest of varying greens - the perfect scene to paint a watercolor. It was the only quaint I’d see.
After I left Parker, I spent over an hour on roads that snaked through hills and valleys where I was expected to do at least 55. I traversed several Main Streets in towns with names like Petrolia, Karns City and Foxburg. I passed two chemical plants, a metal manufacturer and a commercial glass maker and drove the occasional mile on a freeway under construction to get to the next windy road.
For the most part, my mind was at peace, but every once in a while…especially when I heard Fake Siri tell me a turn was coming up and I hoped it was the highway, but it turned out to be yet another two-lane free-for-all with rises where you couldn’t see what was coming at you from the other side, I got irritated.
How could you have been such an idiot and missed that exit?
I have no idea where the hell I even am.
There had to have been a better way than this.
The rants were followed by a couple of deep breaths and a sigh.
Eventually, I got dumped on a highway with which I was familiar. After studying the map when I got home, I still don’t understand why the AI brought me the way it did, but I’ll give it credit for the timing because I pulled into the parking lot at 5:27.
All I hear as I write this is the Universe laughing because the entire trip is a giant metaphor for where I am in my life right now - meandering, feeling lost, confused, not understanding why I’ve been brought this way.
Fortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve stood in the hallway waiting for a door to open. This time, though, I’m not pacing. I’m getting used to being in the moment. I’m not perfect at being patient, but better. My only mantra is, “We’ll see.”
While I gave Google zero stars for the directions, I have faith my life is being guided in ways I don’t yet understand. I’ll hold off on rating for the Universe for now.
See you soon!
