I got a fortune cookie from a man I thought I was in love with and on the inside it read, Drive West. I’ve never been a big believer in anything other than chaos and madness and heartache. But then again, I’d never really left Los Angeles.
There is something to be said about the open road, something liberating in cruise control and a sunburnt arm out the window, something about a half smoked cigarette and Patsy Cline whining in the tape deck. There’s something to be said about all of this.
When I got out past where the roads meet each other, past where the power lines cut the horizon, past the places I recognized, I started to say words out loud like lose, free, and absence and leave. And it felt like the farther I got from him the more I meant these things and I started to give up layers of grief like clothing along side the highway.
I think sometimes we get caught up in who we think we are or better yet who we think we are to someone else. And sometimes the only way to shed this thought process is to get even more lost than you were to begin with. And when you get way out there, past yourself, only then can you claw and crawl your way back to a home you deserve.