done then said.

…Because they’re terribly boring, that’s why.

And, while I didn’t find much interesting on my drive down 129 today, I did find the time to think. My day started off unconventionally when the 12v-cigarette-lighter-plugin-thing (I am the daughter of a tire emperor, I should know what that’s called) stopped working. More accurately: I plugged too much in at once and blew the fuse. So, instead of relying on Garmin and my iPod, I kicked it old school with some mapquest and mixed tapes.

I spent the two hour drive from Athens to Macon with some old high school friends: Jimmy Eat World, Something Corporate, Jem, and the entire line-up of the Spiderman 2 Original Soundtrack.  I would have much preferred some sort of folk tune from my iPod; Dashboard Confessional’s “Vindicated” just doesn’t match the scenery of back country roads. 

Either way, this was my accompaniment for the drive, the sights of which consisted mainly of small towns and an ungodly number of trees. I passed through the sprawling metropolis of Bishop – which has more antique shops per square mile than I’ve ever seen in a place. That’s all relatively speaking – the town is probably 1/3 of a square mile and I pass by two antique shops, so that has to count for something.

Continuing my drive, there are at least a dozen fruit stands closed for the winter. I’m curious to know if there’s some sort of backwoods franchise that requires all fruit stands to be white with a kindergartner’s handwriting in red that spells out “TOMATOS” (intentional misspelling).  I see the first electronic sign for fifty miles in Madison, GA, which is actually a pretty little town with a cultural center. Not sure how much culture they have to fill that whole center, but good for them! 

By mile sixty something I realize that every car on the road is going at least ten under the speed limit. This makes me panicky. Here’s the real thing that I’m getting at in my pseudo-travel article on the back roads of Georgia: I am not meant for this type of lifestyle.  Not that anyone is forcing me into living in a town that boasts an Uncle Remus Museum (real place passed along the way), but I can’t even imagine that life.  I feel suffocated in the medium-sized cities that I’ve lived in… I couldn’t even imagine being in a town where the highest speed limit is 35, ensuring that no one blows through the single stop light.  I keep reminding myself of my mother’s advice: slow down and enjoy life.  I try to breathe and hum along with traffic at 40 miles an hour, but within seconds I’m flying around in the passing lane. 

To be honest, I’m taking my mom’s words into account, I really am trying to pump the breaks… but I’m still torn on this matter. I can’t decide if my internal desire to live in the fast lane is my fatal flaw or a driving force in my ambitions.  Beth Moore says, “Every virtue comes within itself the seeds of its own self destruction.” So, perhaps it’s a little of both, although I doubt that being easily irritated by slow drivers is a virtue.  

It’s all a matter of perspective, really.  Success is how each and every individual defines it… and I’m not comfortable being a big fish in a small pond. I want to be a big fish in a big pond.  You just don’t fit in living in a New York state of mind while passing cow farms in middle Georgia.

By the time I recognize this moment
This moment will be gone
But I will bend the light, pretend that it somehow lingered on…
Was there a second of time that I looked around?
Did I sail through or drop my anchor down
Was anything enough to kiss the ground?
And say I’m here now.

- John Mayer, “Clarity”