They wait to be used for a slowed down exploration of the life that, up until now, had been under the grips of a long, dormant, cold season. They seem to understand that the cycle of sun, warmth and rain has brought to fruition blooming and reawakening.
For a minute, I think I hear them say:
Push one pedal, push another and feel your knees do what they were created to do with each revolution. No one is behind you honking and in a hurry to pass on to the next thing. Go ahead, squeeze the brakes. Stop. Now look – and actually see – what you’ve been missing while driving.
This season is shorter than you think.
I was whizzing by genuine memories when I was en route to perfect, manufactured memories. Driving with windows up, I never felt harsh weather, but I didn’t feel warm spring breezes or breathe in the signature smells of April showers.
I had almost stopped exploring -- much less even looking -- because I believed there was no new ground to be covered. Each day had its destinations, time of arrival and time of departure. Good conversations, belly laughs and just being were infrequent detours.
Days fused into weeks, weeks into months and months into years.
I was changing my daughter’s diapers one day and having “the talk” about periods and puberty the next. One week my husband and I were planning an impromptu vacation detour and the next week we were talking retirement options.
One minute, I realized I’d have to begin having annual mammograms in ten years. I blinked and in the next minute, I was in a doctor’s office waiting…wondering if everything was normal. The nurse told me I’d either get a phone call if something was “off” or, a postcard if there were no abnormalities.
I had never wanted to receive a postcard as much as I did that day.
In the in between time of waiting, I thought about missed seasons and the incidental moments of goofy-ness that seemed like roadblocks. The heart-to-heart girlfriend conversations cut short because of the itinerary’s pull. There were more missed opportunities for exploring than I could – or wanted to – recount.
And then just like that, the postcard arrived.