AN ODE TO THE OPEN ROAD: JOURNAL

"My wife gave me this look like- what the hell is your deal?" Justin started explaining how he had snapped at the kids, thrown them the iPad, and turned up the music. "Probably not my best move, but it was just-" He looked around the garage, searching for the right feeling. "It's just that they were messing with the best part of the trip. That first moment that you get away from the traffic, have the lane to yourself, and can zone out for a minute — no distractions. That space where it's just you and the road, when you can suddenly let everything else melt away. You guys know what I mean, right?"

It's a feeling we know all too well; the kind of deeper recognition that is shared even when you can't find the right words. It's that old familiar escape: Radio cranked. Windows down. Shades on. A slow lean into the throttle as the dashed lines start whipping by. An endless streak of asphalt stretched out into the distance ahead, wavering in the summer sun.

That mystical place where time still seems to move slower: the open road.

Set firmly against the chaos of family emergencies, political theater, and workweek absurdity, there's that mystical place where time still seems to move slower: the open road. For some, it's a place of unbridled freedom. For others, a means to an end. For most though, it remains a place of comfort. Acting as both therapist and guide, it's one of the few remaining sanctuaries where we can find the time and space to consciously reset our minds. With enough miles, a sense of calmness emerges that has the power to heal some pretty deep wounds.

​​ As with all things spiritual, there's some people who will never understand the journey. But that just leaves more open highway for the rest of us: those who prefer to seek out the sacred, with the wind whipping past and sights set on an endless horizon. So get out there, connect with those deeper truths, and keep the wheels turning while you've still got some tread left on the tires.