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  • I go on these drives. All the time. Just to be by myself and to think or not think or sing at the top of my lungs or rehearse all of the words I should have said or that I want to say next. Out loud and earnestly so that I could make them a little bit real for a while.

    Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out where some of these weird roads lead. They’re in this town where I’ve spent my whole life and I’ve never bothered to learn where they go. So I go. And I’m always surprised to see where I end up. Starting out with no real plan. Just driving. I love getting lost for an hour only to realize that next left brings me back to the familiar. And then after exploring (or sometimes before), I always to drive by places that mean something to me.

    One trip around the lake where we spent those summers, slowly by that bar where we never paid for a thing, that parking lot we danced in, that house we helped rebuild, that boring little development a few towns over, that front porch where we wasted so much time, that house where I learned how to sing, that intersection, under that perfectly common streetlight, where I absolutely should have kissed you in the freezing cold.

    If anything, I just sigh. I don’t cry when I think about the way things have changed. And I no longer lament the fact that none of us are exactly where we thought we’d be by now. I don’t drive by these places to try and wish myself back to them. I’m always just happy that they happened. And I’m happy to remind myself that I’m always at the wheel.
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