so when you drive
and the years go flying by
i hope you smile
if i ever cross your mind
it was a pleasure of my life
and i cherished every time
and my whole world it begins and ends with you
on that highway 20 ride

-zac brown-


Today was one of those days where all I wanted to do was get in my truck and go. I wanted to come home from work, put my cat and my writing in the passenger seat, and go. Today would've been the coast, no doubt. I have a slight wanderlust, as I think most people do, and more often than not it's satiated by the words on the page. But today, with the silver sky tumbling around, I wanted to see the miles slide by beneath my wheels, watch the trees grow and stretch, see birds flying as we left the world behind. I wanted to drive until we hit the beach, find a room, hole up and listen to the waves, write and write and write some more. The words are there, I can feel them right now, bubbling up in my gut and churning my blood. They hurt, bashing and crashing around, struggling to find the page.

Once upon a time, almost 9 years ago now, my friend and mentor KB gave me an essay to read. I was at the Rep one afternoon, and he saw that I was floundering, just trying to keep my head above water. He knew I liked to write and so he pulled this essay and gave me a copy. I still have it, complete with the sticky note informing me that the underlinings were not his doing. It was amazing. I go back and read it, but there are parts that stole into my brain and are stored there. The essay talked about giving your passion both power and time, that if you want to write--or rock climb or sew or draw or hike--you have to give time which then creates the power behind whatever it is you're doing. Reading it for the first time, at 16, I missed most of the message. And it isn't until now, years later, that I realize KB knew exactly what he was doing when he gave it to me. It wasn't just an essay. It was permission to be exactly who I was. The other part that I love is when the author reminds his audience that sometimes the laundry doesn't get done, the dinner doesn't get made, the phone calls don't happen. If you're giving your passion the time and the power it deserves, then sometimes you will not show up at all. He says, "Don't worry if I'm late. Rejoice if I don't show up at all." In seeking the words I am giving them time; in finding them, power. Does it mean that I'm up an hour or two later than I want to be? Yeah. Does it mean tomorrow morning may be rough? Yeah. Is this a schedule I'm going to have to adjust once I start training? You bet. But for tonight I can't ignore what it is that I have to do.

Look! There! The words came. They always arrive. I forget sometimes that the road under me, that my bones and lungs and heart are composed entirely of letters that form words. That if I had to, I could write myself into being. I've done it before. I forget that when the day is rough all I have to do is let go, stop my desperate hold on the every day world and let the words carry me home. Then I'll be fine. Even better than fine...giving power and time takes so little. Hoarding it takes a hell of a lot more effort. So maybe tomorrow will be the day that I wake up and go to the coast instead of work, maybe tomorrow will be the day that I wake up and follow my heart to that place where I'll find the right to simply be. I can always hope. Until then...until then, there is sweet sleep and a warm handmade quilt and a big black cat to snuggle up with. And for now, for tonight, that is enough.