Going Home

The nine and a half hour drive home from the beach provided me with lots of time to think and daydream while looking out the window. One of my favorite things about traveling, is that it allows me to peek into the lives, if only briefly for a second or two, of the people I passby: the hunched over, frail old man shuffling towards his garage in the back yard; the Asian woman speaking rapidly into her cell phone; the smiling man with gold earrings talking to his lady passenger; the young girls holding up "car wash" signs on the side of the road. Who are these people? What are their stories? Sometimes I imagine a story for them. I make it sad, tragic, even gruesome at times. Sometimes I imagine happy carefree tales-a fiction I wish for myself. Mostly I am just curious about the struggles, conflicts and joys these people have in their own lives. We really aren't all that different. We all go through the same kinds of things, we feel the same emotions, just at different times in our lives, and yet each story is unique just like each individual.