The Written Addiction

Finding My Euphoria – Taking A Drive

December 15, 2024 11:10 am

I am later than usual today, but then again, I am not wearing a watch and there is no reason for me to be on a schedule, which means late or not, I am right on time and exactly where I need to be.
It is Sunday, just after 10:00am and the morning sky has been beautiful so far. The moon chose to stay around and watch the sun come up, which is my favorite thing to see—a full moon at the hours of daybreak.
I get it.
If I was the moon, I’d hang around after quitting time, just to see the sun come up.

I am no stranger to the sunrise nor am I a stranger to an early drive, which is perfect for me. I love these drives because there is no one else on the road. The sky above is beautiful and doing its thing.
There are no causes for concern, at least not for the moment.
I am driving with a mindless appeal of thinking about everything while not thinking about anything at all.

I love morning drives.
They are perfect.
I love it when no one else is on the road because the morning is too early for the rest of the world and the silence is perfect.
I can think or not think at all.
I can allow myself to slip away in a semi-conscious state, aware of where to go and how to drive; but all the while, my mind is suspended in autopilot.
I know where to go and when to turn, but at the same time, my mind is elsewhere.
I have been taking morning trips like this for so long that my body can drive without thinking, or without input from my mind.
I swear, this is perfect. No, wait.
This is healing.

The mind and body are closely intertwined yet, we seldom realize how our thoughts impact our body and soul.
Maybe this is why I love the early morning drives.
I don’t have to think about anything. I don’t have to regard my worries about being good enough. I don’t have to wonder if I will be accepted, or not.
I don’t have to think about anything at all.
There is no rejection. I am not so heartbroken.
If anything, I am protected by a mindless redemption.
All I have to do is put my foot on the gas and drive.
No, wait.
All I need is a tank of gas and a direction.
Come to think of it, I might not need direction at all.
The tank of gas is another thing, but the ride does not need a destination.
I might not even need a reason to go anywhere.
I just need to turn the key, start the engine, put my foot on the gas, and then I can go.

Maybe we should do this sometime.
Would you go with me?
We could wake up early with no intention in mind. We can head east or west. We can go anywhere and be fine with whichever direction we chose.

I’d like to find a place to eat.
Maybe a place to get a good piece of pie, which I admit is a snack that my diabetes tells me to stay away from.
But hey, this is a special trip.
Isn’t it?
We can go and keep our choices between us.
My doctor doesn’t have to know.
We can take a drive to nowhere and be fine with wherever this goes.
I’d like do this.
I wonder though.
Would you like come with me?
If so, do you think this would mean as much to you as this does to me?

Anyway,
I am later than usual. But at the same time, I have no rules to follow.
At least not today.
Or, should I say, not for now . . .
I am not a child anymore and there is no bedtime or curfew that minds my business.
However, I want to get back to my point about the early drives we take when no one else is on the road.

I have been watching the sunrise for more than 52 years. I have noticed a few of them. I have noticed some because at the time, my life was spinning out of control or my situation was unfortunate.
Still though, the sun came up the very next day. The traffic lights still turned from green to yellow, and then to red.
I remember a sunrise from my youth while sleeping in a ditch next to Earle Ovington Boulevard. I remember how the colors of dawn cast a reflection across the glass buildings, like mirrors that reflected the sunrise from the east.

I was far from beautiful at the time.
I had seen something unfortunate the night before.
But still, tragedy or not, the sun came out to make the scene.

I remember one morning when I woke at a bus stop in front of the stores on Hempstead Turnpike. This was in the summer of ’89. I was sick and crazy as ever. This was just before my life took a turn and I was forced to either change or do nothing but prepare for more of the same.
I had no idea what was coming. But I knew that something was coming my way.
I could feel it.

I remember the morning after The Old Man passed. The sky was beautiful yet the morning was as somber as could be. I was sad. I was confused and I was numb and still processing the loss of my Father. Yes, I was a child. I was only a boy. I was 17 and now what?
What would my life be like now? How could the sun shine like this? How could the morning be this beautiful when I was in pain and how could the world still look this beautiful when I was in the middle of a tragic loss.

I suppose the solace or the comfort could be argued as heaven sent. Or maybe heaven has nothing to do with things like this. Or maybe heaven is only a manmade idea, which we believe in because the ideas about nothingness or the absence we face when entering the afterlife is too lifeless for us to consider. So, we take on the appeal of some amazing brand of paradise, and we call this heaven to rest the earthy fears and solve our bodily dilemmas.

I know there is something beautiful here. I know the sky and sun, and the colors of dawn come with their own rituals and healing power.
I have seen the mornings after crazy nights. I have seen them after moments of loveless and selfish, self-centered needs collaborated with someone in the transaction of a one-night-stand between me and some faceless person. I was no more important than they were. They were no more important than me. And so, we were both faceless and meaningless, which means either of us were interchangeable, or as meaningful as a battery-operated device, intended for sexual pleasure.

At the same time, I can remember walking the beach in my clothes from the night before. I was long haired with a cigarette in my teeth. I wore two silvery hooped earrings in my left ear. The morning sky was above me and the ocean at Point Lookout in front of me.
I used to go here all the time.
I go here still because this is my church.
This is my sanctuary.
This is my house of worship and this is my Father’s house, to which you are welcome to come with me, regardless of whether you choose to worship here — or not.
Either way, all are welcome here at my Father’s house.

I have an idea to see the sun come up, offshore, where no one else is around. I will make this trip soon. I promise. I will be out at sea where no one else can be, except for the sea and the sky. As we look around, all we see are the colors from the new morning sun, rising as it does, each and every day, and forming like a yolk from the palm of the grand horizon.

Sure, I know there’s no way for me to prove to you that there is a God or a heaven above.
But for a while, I would like to think of it this way—we can look at the sky and the colors from the sun.
We can watch the sky change when the sun has lifted to her place on the center stage, and we can say that we survived and endured, and more than anything, somehow, you and I lived to see another sunrise. We made it, despite the news or despite how crazy we are, or despite the special bullshit we find down here on Project Earth.

I don’t have very much.
But you are welcome to what I have.
My dreams.
My wishes.
My hopes.
You can have them all.
If you’d like them.

You know what?
I never saw me as someone who is (or was) desirable.
I never saw myself as more than what my fears tell me.
But the sun is up. And so am I.
So are you, and hence, I suppose this means that so are we.
We are both awake now.

But out of curiosity, I have a question before i go.
Ever sit in an unknown diner or small restaurant and order a slice of pie from a nice waitress?
A cup of coffee, perhaps?
Maybe we can take a drive sometime —
and kill two birds with one stone.