Wednesday, October 3, 2012
I am always in a hurry.
Ever since I was a little girl I've hurried everywhere I went. I don't know how it started, this impatient, speed-walking thing I do, never mind if I'm early, or I have no appointment at all; I feel an implacable desire to make the shortest time in the distance between one place and the next. And it later translated to my driving. I'm always going those five free miles over the speed limit and looking ahead to consider the timing of lights and which lane will have the shorter line, and I don't know why.
Maybe, despite my love of maps, I am not as much a lover of travel as I imagine myself to be. Maybe, despite all of the warnings I've been given, I can't stop making it about the destination.
Or maybe, I just think that something is waiting around the next corner, at the stoplight just ahead and crowding the crosswalk, that thing that I never stop looking for.