Road trips are me. I love them because they represent the me I want to be. Movement. Unfolding. Dest
Road trips are me. I love them because they represent the me I want to be. Movement. Unfolding. Destination and direction but little planning. Letting the way be the teacher. I can’t stand to hurry. I am stopping on a whim. I am getting off the freeway as much as possible to take the windy roads… the roads that follow the water between the mountains. I like to pee in random places. To stop on a highway and look at the discarded things, the trash and maybe a scarf that has baked in the sun and suffered its miserable forgotten loneliness. I like to stop and look at the side of the road that has never seen a human moving slower than the speed limit. I feel it looking back at me, amazed. I am the abandoned church with its open door and broken down roof, like God busted out and jumped to the sunset. I like the rule of not paying to sleep. Finding a dirt road and a canyon and sleeping in the sandy river bed. Wondering if a flash flood will wake me up. Aren’t we all? Sitting by my best friends, car dancing, pointing out the beautiful things we pass. Jumping out of the car to touch them. We want to touch everything. We’re covered in scars and burns from all the touching. We’re proud of it. . Photo and whip: @reallykindofamazing. -- source link