WHO GUIDES US HOME?

I went to Atlantic City with a lover for an escape from New York City. I think it was back in 2011.

 We did all the classic things one does when they journey to AC. Boardwalk strolling, outlet mall perusing, beach time, and trying our luck at the casinos.

I have a rule when rouletting.

Red. Always red. Or is it black, always black?

I can never actually remember. That’s the problem with absolutes. The second you forget which one you “always” do, you lose your whole sense of self. I am done with absolutes. Yet another absolute. Ahh, sigh. One day, I’ll be done with absolutes. Maybe.

It was Sunday night and we were driving back home to New York City. It was a perfect crisp night. The kind of night that begs for cracked windows, sweatshirts and scarves, and her hand in mine. I think we listened to Ana Gabriel. I love nostalgia. I cry at the drop of a song. Something about feeling seen and safe all within the confines of a serenade from a complete stranger. If you are a musician, thank you. It’s a gift. You are a gift.

We drove through highways and neighborhoods. I didn’t want the drive to end. It just felt so right. This would be our last road trip, our last adventure, our last chance to access melancholy, together. I never wanted the drive to end. I was ready for the relationship to end. It’s ok for two totally contradictory feelings to both feel right.

Here we are in 2021, and I write this under a full moon tonight. I am almost 5,000 miles away from Atlantic City and late night drives back to the lights of New York City. Here on the Big Island of Hawaii, there is a different drive. One that comes up from Waimea to the North side of the Island that has quickly become one of my favorite scenic routes I have ever known. 

As I drove home today, I realized that going the speed limit actually means you are holding up traffic. I just got a speeding ticket (having a car is a new thing for me, after 12 years of living on public transport), so I am trying to be “obedient.” I’m sure people were annoyed, all following me (closely) on a no-pass road. And then something happened.

Fog rolled in. Visibility became limited. The sun took a break.

And I quickly went from the one holding up traffic, to the leader of the group. The cars that were just a minute ago ready to run me over gave me some space. The cars that desperately wanted to pass me, just followed.  

I felt a sense of responsibility, of trust, of gratitude. I put both hands on the wheel, and drove through the fog that turned to sun to mist to clear skies. I rolled down my window, found an Ed Sheeran song, and felt turned on, alive, and just, here with a beautiful unfolding of the dance of nature, and the simple and subtle shift in perspective. I was on a mountain road, leading a group of strangers home.

Tonight, may they settle in under the full moon.

And tomorrow, as they head back out on that same road, may they find someone to follow, or be someone who leads themselves and the strangers that journey with them, for yet another day in the one thing we all share.

This one wild and precious life.