Signposts

OK, y'all can blame this one on Michael for encouraging me to expose some of my early writings that I stumbled across recently.

This one, which somehow seems mildly appropriate for kicking off my second 800 posts (this is published post number 801), comes from a time when I had a failed marriage behind me, was settling into my second marriage attempt, was working a comfortably straightforward technical job, just right for people with brains that work like mine does, and had enough time, probably for the first time ever, to contemplate who I was and where I was going.

Between Michigan visits and work I was also on the road a lot. And for me road trips mean a lot of wandering off of the main routes. In addition to those between Texas and Michigan, I've driven every posible route between Houston and OKC, Lafayette or Port Fourchon LA, and several to Denver and Midland, and all this before GPS and Google Maps.

Driving and hiking are two times when my mind tends to open up and explore the inner and outer universe. And in the days before cell phones I used to carry a little digital recorder on the seat beside me to capture some of these, at times frustratingly elusive, thoughts.

What follows is the result of some of those inward musings on one particular trip, written on the fly - or more accurately, on the drive.

But be forewarned, at the time I wrote this many decades ago it felt pretty profound - now, not so much.

Signposts

I’m traveling an unknown road through a first time town.

My eyes dart constantly, seeking the signposts that will guide my way.
But it occurs to me that the most important signposts can only be found by looking within.

Lose myself in town, end up on Elm Street when I want to be on Main, and it's a simple matter of going around the next block, or the next, until I find the way again.
But lose my way in life and I run the risk of never getting back to where I want to be.

Every day spent traveling the wrong direction takes me past trails and turnings that I will never be able to return to.
Yet those inner signposts can be infinitely more difficult to decipher than the worst of the worst city streets.

It’s far too simple to convert other’s expectations into my own requirements.
Far too easy to travel a false path to a place not sought.
I must learn how to construct and follow the proper signposts.

My own signposts.

Just this simple realization brings a quiet peace.

Maybe I'm not as lost as I feared.

Though now, distracted by these musings, I find myself at a stoplight on 4th Avenue with a Walgreens on one side and a McDonalds on the other, and I don’t think that’s where I'm supposed to be!