Say, What?

 

Road Trip!

“Look at life through the windshield, not the rearview mirror.”

Byrd Baggett

          After three long years of solitude, being on the road again feels surreal. My friend Ellen and I are on our way to a writers’ retreat on Emerald Isle, NC, one of the outer banks. We drove as far as Columbia, SC yesterday, and the stories are already stacking up—like the stoned-out dad with his two little kids at a Burger King in Villa Rica yesterday; his weekend to have them, no doubt, and he still couldn’t help getting blasted. And then there was the one-armed waitress/cashier at the Waffle House, somewhere in the back woods of Georgia, who simply could not figure out my change and ended up giving me 20 $1.00-bills, I think, because they allowed her to count by one’s. And, while she counted and recounted, the cook, a mere boy, rattled on about driving to Texas to see a girl he had to “let grow up some” before he could date her. His car had a dead battery, which, one would think, might make getting to Texas challenging. Oh, the South! And it’s characters. No shortage of stories here.

          That’s the purpose of travel, isn’t it? Even if you’re just going to Grandma’s house, you go for the stories you’ll hear. Both from her and from all the aunts and uncles and cousins who come piling into Granny’s little parlor to eat pie and tell tales—lies mostly. That’s what southern families do—they recount the family history, tell the old tales with lots of hyperbole, eat pie, then eat some more, and laugh.

          I’m not a seasoned traveler—hardly know the world at all except for what I’ve read in books. I used to feel inferior about that, as though you can’t be a respectable person without seeing the great sites, museums, and galleries, or snapping photos of exotic streets and ancient shrines. Now I just love the stories of everyday people, living everyday life, in places no one’s ever heard of. Turns out, human stories are the same everywhere. Whether you’re an ordinary man in Vienna, or Villa Rica; whether you can or cannot count by fives and have both your hands for the job. Your story is every person’s story with a unique twist.

          We’ll make it to the outer banks today, God willing. We’re looking through that windshield, and not in the rearview mirror. The road ahead is full of cars, people, and stories. Can’t wait to collect as many as my bucket will hold.

                                                  In the Spirit,

                                                  Jane