I awaken to the steady thump, thump, thump of the road on the tires of my car, steadily taking me back.
Back to my roots. Back to some sanity. I strain my eyes to see where we are. Ah, my oldest daughter, in her late twenties, has the pedal to the metal at a screaming speed of 95mph in my 2000 Mustang. I pay no mind to what her speed is, not even noticing we are nearly flying. She is getting me back to my roots, my mom, my husband’s gravesite, old friends from childhood and high school, still residing in the small town environment since infancy. Why is it some people love staying right where they were born while others cannot wait to get out into the bigness of the world, tasting life elsewhere?