I pass cars along the way, cars with families heading towards a specific destination. Me, I know not where my destination lies, I just go. Mother driving while the father reads a book; children in the backseat, one resting on a pillow laid strategically on the window pain, another with headphones enjoying the sounds of her favorite band. I wonder where they will go and what conversations arise along the way.
The radio emanates sounds of lost loves, inner strength, and emotions of those in the artist's life. I tap my foot to the rhythm while I gaze at the scenery on the minimally populated highway. I feel free... free to not keep up pretenses or social norms that dictate how I must act in fear of judgment from those I know well and see daily. The different stops along the way create opportunities to have brief interludes with people I will never see again. I find it comforting knowing that there is no history between us and no knowledge of the person that I am.
Here I have no responsibilities, there are no expectations placed on me, no deadlines of which I must meet or endure the consequences if I fail. It's the most freedom that I can personally fathom; although that, of course, is my perception based on my own personal experience. This causes me to ponder what freedom truly is and how should I define freedom. I am happy here, miles from my support and familiar surroundings.
I continue driving until my body and mind feel comfortable with stopping. I stay until I feel renewed. I rest in the vague knowledge of where I am.
I return when I choose to.