Confidence
Life is a Highway
Navigating Solitude and Serendipity on Interstate 75
Commencing the solo return journey from the fantasy-like warmth of family in Abingdon, Virginia, to the real-life emptiness of my widow’s apartment in Sarasota, Florida following Christmas felt like traversing a delicate boundary.
Stepping away from the idyllic warmth of familial embrace, the journey unfolded as a transition from a sort of fantasy life into the return raw reality awaiting me in the quiet solitude of my apartment after the drive.
As raindrops drummed against the windshield and roof of the Honda Odyssey, new colors appeared in the haze of headlights, and I felt their rhythmic beat accompanying me, a stressful backdrop to the reflections stirred by the solitude of the return journey.
The windshield wipers at first slow-danced, maintaining some semblance of clarity as I navigated through the jam-packed highways. The salsa-like rhythm interspersed the raindrop serenade. A 12 hour drive took 15 1/2 hours.
My determination and stubborn streak decided this was going to be a one day trip.
I found that navigating the highway somewhat mirrors life’s journey. In the turtle lane, the steady enormity of semi-trucks represents the dependable breadwinners, always there when you need them. They leave space for people to come and go. They’ve spent so much time there that they know how people are going to act and plan for it.
The jackrabbits, hopping from lane to lane, don’t aim to outpace but create chaos, staying ahead at any cost. These are the souls afraid of being left behind.
In the middle lane, glassy-eyed occupants hesitate, mirroring those afraid to step out of comfort zones. Afraid to stretch. Too lazy to move.
On the far left, a different narrative unfolds. Those drivers aren’t prioritizing self-care; they’re doing whatever they want, regardless of others. Riding tails and weaving recklessly across lanes, they lack patience and disregard the needs and safety of fellow travelers. This dynamic reflects a self-centered impulsivity amid life’s structured journey, where some pursue their desires without considering the impact on others.
I mean seriously whatever happened to the passing lane being only for passing? But this is Life, isn’t it? People don’t do what we expect them to do.
In the spacious cabin of the Odyssey, my feline co-pilot stayed hunkered down under his blanket, and was no bother.
A couple of times he came out for scratches and to see where we were hoping I would tell him we would be home soon. Food, water, and bathroom breaks happened at the safety of rest areas and gas stations. He knew he was safe with me as his driver.
I knew I was wanted, and that someone needed me.
With Bluetooth connectivity, I seamlessly switched between listening to YouTube podcasts for insightful moments and FM radio for energetic music, creating a dynamic soundtrack to my drive. I amazed myself that I could handle these technological things in such a relatively easy manner. Two years ago, that would not have been me. I do it now since that was always my husband‘s job.
Navigating through construction zones felt like maneuvering through life’s complexities. The orange cones and flashing lights became temporary roadblocks, recalibrating Siri to give me the fastest route provided opportunities to recalibrate my course. In these moments, my intuition became a guide, prompting me to take off-road detours that, like unplanned breaks, became moments of serendipity.
The Honda Odyssey’s reliability contrasted with the sudden add on of a vintage Buick’s unintentional holiday smoke show, reminding me of the endurance required in the face of unexpected challenges.
Sometimes we have to drive through the smog of life and wait for it to exit before we can truly breathe again. Life is not perfect. It is messy and people are zipping in and zipping out of our lives. Just like exits on a highway.
Traffic, akin to life’s chaotic rush, became an element to navigate strategically. There are dues in life, and we can choose to pay them or not.
Willingly paying express lane fees in Atlanta proved a smart strategic move, sparing me potential hours of backup and allowing for a less stressful journey. As I pressed on, the Odyssey became a companion in the literal and metaphorical sense, a vessel for both practicalities and the emotional weight of the return trip.
My husband’s mass card looked out at me and I continued to talk to him as if he were a passenger in the car. I never feel alone when I talk to him.
Arriving in Sarasota in the wee hours of the morning, I understood that the Odyssey’s rain-soaked return journey, my feline companion, construction zones, smoking cars and strategic detours became chapters in my personal Christmas odyssey. Each element, whether planned or unexpected, contributed to the narrative of an adventure — one that has become my new normal — traveling alone. With each new trip my confidence level grows and I believe that I can do this.
Reflecting on the miles traveled and the memories made, I acknowledged the bittersweet nature of widowhood, but in trying to find the silver lining I imagine that if we are somehow planning out our lifetimes in order to grow and making sacrifices for others to grow, my husband’s early departure is his gift to me, so that perhaps I can see myself in the way he has seen me. So that I can grow in confidence.
I had a choice this holiday, as we all do. I could sit home alone for the holiday and wallow in my self-pity, or I could decide to make the best of it.
They say happiness is not a place but a journey. We are all the drivers.
If you like this story, I invite you to purchase my new children’s book, A New Baby at Happy Gates Ranch, at your favorite bookstore.
