Greenville, Mississippi

It was my first view of Arkansas, and the road stretched ahead like a flat-bellied snake, a black racer on the way to nowhere. The sky was blue, so blue, and the day held such impossible promise that I hovered fitfully in a melancholy limbo of anticipation. By nightfall, I would be in Tulsa. By week’s end, I would sleep in four cities and live through many more.

If we knew what lay beyond the bridge, would we cross? Given the chance to see beyond the crest, to stand at the pinnacle with the wisdom of hindsight, would we still climb ever farther, push ever onward? My answer is always yes. I stumble; I fall; I whimper; I cry. I say I can’t go on, and yet I do. I say it looks too daunting, but I rarely stop — seldom even pause.

This is an asset, a caveat to a choice I made long ago to live a full, authentic life. It stands my hair on end, leaves me breathless and terrified. It scares me to death — and brings me to life. Such is the path I follow these days, and it’s a good one.

Music: Ventura Highway by America (lyrics)