Mariposa, Mariposa

There is a highway…

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There is a highway…

That stretches for miles and miles. It is vast and open and only asks of you that you keep going, even if you don’t know where it’s headed. The thing is that you have to decide as you go. It is your thoughts and intentions and actions that pave this road, only you do not see.

I think it is already there, waiting for me, but what I fail to realize is that it is up to me to create it. It goes through the wintery slick roads of a Michigan January and also lies flat in front of me with cactus on the side, the sun beating down on the dry Arizona desert, the sky stretching so far and wide, leaving you feeling exposed to the world. I feel vulnerable on this highway and also alone. Content to be driving with my music playing, but also knowing something or rather someone is missing.

It is so hard for me to make those concise decisions, but if I don’t do it, my highway will lead somewhere that someone else chooses. North Dakota, Phoenix, Chicago, Maine. Somewhere that might be okay or even a wonderful place but not one where I belong. I belong on my highway, laying the ground even if I can’t see it, making stops on the way. To places and people I want to visit. Sights I want to see. But I must continue on my highway.

And it’s not where I end up that’s important, it’s that I take my highway at all.

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