A Drive With The Top Down

When there is nowhere left to turn and the vehicle stops, then I suppose this is where we’ll find ourselves. I suppose we will look around and say, “I guess this place is as good as any,” and then we can take it from there.
This is where we’ll end up, hopefully, this is someplace warm and someplace nice. People will smile and say common things like, “Hello,” or “good morning,” without the need for payback or further expectation.
When the road ends and there is no more reasons to keep running, then we will at last have found a place that we can settle into a life, which we call our very own.  

There is a dream I heave, or so I think it is. I am in old restored car that comes from an idea in my youth. The car is a red convertible, a two-door, with the top down, off white interior, and then there is me in a pair of khaki shorts and white buttoned-down shirt.
My sleeves and rolled up and the collar is loosely buttoned. I am already tanned but the sun is high and warming my skin to a shade of sweet bronze, like the color of warm honey which appeals to the appetite of desire.

I am on an empty road, long and strait, with a single yellow line that dashes down the center and flying past me. I say the road is empty, —or perhaps this is a road to nowhere, yet to me, the road leads to somewhere significant. At least, I hope so.
I am driving fine. Not too fast, or at least not excessively fast, but certainly not too slow either. I can hear nothing else but the moving wind, which is better than the stereo.
The wind is blowing through my hair, which I have allowed to grow long and act as a sign of my own personal freedom.
I let this happen to rebel and detach from the conformists of our society; to be free, to travel to wherever my dreams take me, and to redefine the lines of my best possible redemption.

I see me somewhere, driving along, heading southwest in a part of the country which I have never been before. I am south though. This is for sure. I am not far from the desserts and graced by an unending sunshine. I am heading to find a place with a sunrise and a sunset to be more beautiful than the mornings I spent at Imperial Beach, in San Diego, California.

Ah, but those mornings and the spirit of awakening. This beach is only a memory to me now. It was a quick thing, a blink, or a hopeful morning about a business that was about to evolve; only to be shut by a dishonest partnership. Such is life, I suppose.

I suppose (in a sense) I am driving somewhere in my dream to find my dream, —if there is such a thing.
I want to find my place, which is more than my place in society. This is more than my place amongst friends or other people. I see this dream as me driving to find my place in the world. This is me, searching for my purpose, longhaired and free.
I am free to be unafraid of what comes my way. I see this drive as a means to be free to feel unafraid of everything, including fear itself.

I suppose the scene would match the dessert-type stories, which my Mother used to tell me about when discussing the tragic history of our Cherokee heritage, which I never learned much about.
I only knew of the trail of tears, which was a painfully long route the tribes were forced to take. I only know this much; the trail the tribes were made to trek was somewhere around 5,043 miles.

Now, in fairness, I do not liken myself to them or the sad, excruciating deaths that passed away on their journey. I only relate to that long, endless feeling of looking for someplace to settle and call it my own. I relate to feeling misplaced or out of place and wishing I had something tangible to call my own.

I am not sad in this journey, mind you, not at all. I am fine, happy to be on my journey, and comfortable in my skin, which is more than I can say for most people throughout most of their life.
I am fine to be me and fine with you being you, or if translated, this would be understood by those south of The Border when I’d say, “Esta es mi vida.”
This is my life.
I am me and you are you and we are either destined or predetermined, but whether attached or separated, this is a trek I must take.
This is my trail in which their will be losses and gains. This is me, eager to find something and feel something, which is bigger than me, you, and even bigger than fate as fate has it.

I see myself, finding little towns with friendly people, and staying for a day or two, —or maybe more.
I want to learn more than my own language. I want to see more than my own ideas, and yet, I want to tie them in to my best beliefs and write about them in my journal.
This, by the way, is something I would keep with me in a brown leather satchel that sits close to me in the passenger seat. I see this dream about a drive as a desire to be more, do more, live more, and feel more. This is more than my detachment. This is not about you or me or anyone in particular. This is more about the idea that somewhere out there is a dream for all of us, and me, I just want to find mine.
Is that so wrong?

I have seen so many things, and yet, I have seen nothing at all. I want to see more. I want to see towns that no one else has ever hear about.
I want to walk into a tiny dive where people flock to eat in a restaurant that town folks love and people drive miles just for a slice of Mom’s cherry-apple pie—or make it peach, yes peach pie would be nice.
Make it a peach pie with a good cup of coffee and an old friendly waitress that smiles at me and says, “Thanks for stopping by.”

I don’t know if I will ever have time to take this drive or write these words that rattle off in my head.
I am not sure if I will reach my best potential or if I will fall short. The world is an uncertain place. and this I know is for certain
Or, safer to say that sometimes, I am an uncertain person, which is also certain, Maybe this is why I have this dream in the first place.

I dream this about me, to find myself, to be myself, and to create the purpose I’ve always dreamed about.
I want to build a place of my own, like the farm I’ve told you so much about. I can build this place anywhere.
It doesn’t have to be here or there. I can build my dream anyplace, even as far down as the border. And I can build it big enough to encompass my dreams and yours because that’s how big this dream of mine is.
I can built it and then live it.
I can relax in the great plague of green fields, warm winds, and a weeping willow, which I promised my Mother I would have for her someday.

I like this dream. And you would too. I like the drive. I like the way the breeze feels when it moves through my hair when the top is down.
I love the idea of warm sun on my skin and of course, I love the idea of a place where I could take the sunset in.

When there is no more room for excuses; then there are no more reasons to keep me from my dream, which I plan to achieve

. . . someday  

absolutly beautiful red 1967 Cadillac DeVille Convertible restored ...

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