On the road tonight there seemed to be more cars headed east than one would normally expect for a Sunday night at 9:00. Of course, this being the end of a holiday weekend, it is possible that these were the rear guard of the weekend warriors who had taken advantage of 3 days to make a trek up to the mountains. Mini-vans with lcd screens aglow and magnets on the back warning us to drive carefully because there is a baby on board jockeyed with each other for pre-eminence coming up the grade to Swannanoa. As each challenged the other, I imagine dreary fathers desperately trying to make good time in the rain so that they can reach their beds in Greensboro or Raleigh in time for at least a few hours sleep before work tomorrow. Was it the one last hike, or one last shop to see in that little town by the park? Or was this the plan all along, living in the hope that an iPhone app would roll out in time to shorten the drive?
It’s not that I cannot understand. It is that I understand all too well. We have to get “there” because “it” will be happening and we don’t want to miss out. I don’t want to miss out. More to the point, I don’t want it to show that I’ve missed out. But then sometimes, I remember that it has already gone on by. What I have is not a destination. It’s what’s on board. Will I treat it with as much care as I ask everyone else to?