In a prior life, I drove a lot.  Been to 46 states (missing Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Mississippi).  A ton of East Coast.  I-95 corridor, NJ Turnpike, Mass Turnpike, so on and so forth. 

And those Midwest drives.  I would do the 10 hour drive between Maryland and Indiana in a straight shot.  The Pennsylvania Turnpike would be scary, especially in the winter.  Ohio is 220 miles wide on I-70.  Those Springsteen type songs about steel towns and coal mining, all true.

I learned a lot on these drives.  How to minimize bathroom, gas breaks, change CDs in the portable player while presumably keeping hands on the wheel and eyes on the road, handling thunderstorms, snow, hail.  And dealing with the plain boredom and monotony.  That’s how I almost died many times.  To stay awake and alive, I prayed for the girl I lit the candles for.

But I learned mainly about myself.  When you have no one to talk to for hundreds of barren miles, you talk to a combination of God and yourself.  Figured out a lot about faith, life, calling, etc.  My vehicle was a confessional booth, place of meditation, and a sanctuary.

I can barely drive more than a few hours these days.  But once upon a time, the road was like home.