We drove miles away from our small hometown with the rising sun among us. Watching the sky light up and the clouds change shape, we drove on. Never looking back, we drove through the states towards Maine. The morning before, we decided that it was time to get away. We planned our drive, packed our bags, and after one night sleep we were off. No schedules, no time constraints on our backs, nothing but the empty road and the journey ahead. The roads were long and deserted. With the radio loud and the wind roaring in our ears, brushing past our faces, we took the longest routes and let the ride drag on. Falling in and out of a peaceful sleep, I sat in the passenger seat, taking in a breath of fresh air. It was a long journey, and a step out of our small town, seeing different cultures along the way. Of course, Maine and the road to it were not too different culture wise, but the air felt fresher and cleaner with every mile we drove. Even when we stopped to get gas, the smell of the exhaust filled our noses with all new scents. We tasted the coffee and the sandwiches. We heard the cars pass and the wind blow. Satisfying all of our senses, this journey took us a full day. A five hour commute took us twelve, bringing us in an out of small neighborhoods, big neighborhoods, deserted areas, and all different sorts of places. 270 miles, twelve hours, six Dunkin Donuts stops, and 30 gas stations later, we reached our destination. But the truth was, we didn't have a destination. We had a journey, and there was no end. Of course, we did have to stop and turn back eventually, but that wasn't the end of our journey. We passed the border of Maine, got off the highway, and got right back on heading home. When traveling the deserted roads, journeying on, we realized in life there are no real destinations. Everything is a journey, and your life is your own personal collection of endless journeys. We discovered the new roads and streets, seeing all the details we won't be able to recall years later. It isn't about the memories, everything is in the present. Even if we don't remember which streets we drove, which car we drove in, or which shoes we wore walking aimlessly along the backroads near gas stations and rest stops, this moment created a journey in our lives. We learned a sense of freedom, pushing a fresh breath through our systems. Though people may say it was a pointless journey, and a waste of gas, to us, it was the realization that we were the authors of the books that share the stories of our lives. We controlled the power behind the wheel, driving the car on. We controlled where we went and all we saw. Our lives are big books of maps and roads, all journeys we took. Whether the journey you're most proud of is simply getting out of bed in the morning or traveling the world, everyday is a step towards your next journey. The time is lost and cannot be restored but the miles travelled will forever be shown through our scars, our pictures, and our dreams of the cool mountain air.
