why we drive the way we do

I wonder if I’ll look back at this time, this epoch, in a fuzzy, nostalgic sort of way; as a time when all ways were still open, paths still diverging, on-ramps splitting before me. Right or left, front or back—which way will the die fall. That this gamble—the gamble of making no money to do something I love—will pay off. The possibilities are narrowing, but they’re still pretty wide open. I suppose uncertainty seems like freedom in retrospect.

I mean, it’s all going to work out, and I’ll get all old and boring, stuck in a rut and routine; I’ll settle. I’ll get decided. Right now, I’m undecided, sharp contrast—highs and lows, the churning that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing and the fear that this moving walkway leads nowhere (that I will never launch).

In the meantime, there’s nothing like a good find at the library to set your day right. Walking in with a very odd, particular subject matter that has recently piqued my interest, spending ten minutes at the cataloging computer, venturing up to the 3rd floor, and finding exactly the book I was looking for that I never knew existed.

Incidentally, at risk of exposing the extent of my book-reading nerdom, the book is called, “Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What it Says About Us).” Stand by for review of said book; if it lives up to its high expectation.

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