I have an insatiable wanderlust. I
can't stay in one spot for too long or I get restless and upset.
In fact, throughout the past eight
months, staying home for an entire weekend has been a foreign and scary
concept. Had I not had a complete night out planned in the great 614,
I would travel upwards of 125 miles – in any direction – just to
be around a large group of people.
While this statistic thoroughly backs
up my theory of me being an extrovert, I'm finding that the time
spent driving home on Sunday afternoons is just as valuable as the
entire weekend spent interacting, communicating and
distracting myself from the reality that I concentrate on so much.
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| My most recent purchase for the drive home was the soundtrack to "Thirteen." If you haven't watched it, you've failed your inner angsty teenager. Get on that! |
I dwell on the fact that I have the dreaded
two-hour drive ahead of me. I do all in my power to make it
comfortable and convenient. I switch out of my plaid button down and
skinny jeans for a t-shirt and gym shorts. I pop in a new CD to
create new memories to or an old one to reminisce.
But after a few miles in, I start to
think.
And I start to contemplate. I start to
envision. I think about what I just did and wonder if it's making me
truly happy or not.
The drive home suddenly shifts from
this concrete, terrible inconvenience to a sort of life planning
session with the occasional existential breakdown and shedding of
tears.
I take time out to think about Loved
ones and Loves lost. I think about who I want to keep in my life and
who deserves a little less energy. Who is toxic and who is treasure?
If you're reading this, you've probably received a really nice text
message, phone call or Snapchat from me as a result of this Sunday
drive.
I look at the upcoming work week. How
can I improve? In what ways can I make this business more money and
how can I feel even more satisfied with my career? What are the next
moves? I break out of my party hard mentality and see myself as a
professional with a vision for the future.
I think of the garbage I put in my body
the weekend preceding. Granted, I never really go over the top, but
it gives me the motivation to eat and drink healthier for the
upcoming week. My workout regimen gets a thorough inspection as I
think of how I can make the most of that time.
The best long drives home result in
songs and poems. Inspiration can come out of nowhere. Either a
passing thought or a misheard lyric heard while scanning through
local radio stations that barely come in can trigger something
beautiful. Against my better judgment, I type behind the wheel. After
100 or so miles, I have something I didn't have before and I feel
much more fulfilled.
I've heard this time of contemplation
and concentration referred to as “The Sunday Weirds,” which is
quite fitting. It's a step back from reality - actually both realities you
encounter on a weekly basis. It's a sense of meditation brought forth
by staring at the same lines in the center of road that you've seen
countless times. I definitely feel weird.
Since I was a youngin, I recall
experiencing this sort of numbness phenomenon on Sunday nights. School was the
next day. I was stuck with family. Many times, I was in the car, on long drives with them. Only
fitting that the feeling is still with me today.
The next time you have a seemingly
infinite drive ahead of you, make the most of it. If you can't get a
passenger to ride shotgun and talk about life, become your own
passenger. When you get out of your car, do so with a sense of
purpose. You're back home and you're going to do something great this
week.
And you're going to live.
You're going to transcend normalcy, be
productive, end the week right and drive back once again; this time,
as a better, more complete human being.
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