This past weekend, I took a solo trip to visit my family in
Knoxville, Tennessee. I left after my
morning class on Thursday, eager to get on the road. There was no appointment to rush to, but I
rushed anyway. Gotta make good
time! GPS running, I watched the bottom
right hand corner as minutes dropped off of my arrival time. I sped through a drive-thru for lunch,
precariously balancing barbeque sauce and chicken fingers on my car’s
console. You can’t waste time going in
to eat! As I hit the lonely stretch of
road after Chattanooga heading north to Knoxville, I approached a bend in the
road and was greeted by glaring red tail lights. Gridlock.
Seeing no end to the mess in sight, I quickly took the next exit and punched
in a detour on my navigation. Thirty
minutes added to my time, but at least I was moving. For a mile or two, that is. Turns out, everyone else had the same idea,
and we crept, bumper to bumper, through the quiet outskirts of a town certainly
unused to this much attention. I
probably would have fared better sticking it out on the interstate.
However, I had somewhat of an epiphany, sitting alone in my
car on a blazing day with the AC pumping.
In that town that I first cursed for having a 25 mph speed limit, I saw
an absolutely beautiful landscape. The
small road I was on stretched over the Tennessee River, and as I crossed, I saw
a picturesque old railroad bridge spanning the water below, casting a beautiful
reflection into the murky blue water. Banks
of lush green trees framed the view.
This quaint little town sat nestled right at the edge of a powerful,
beautiful river. I saw an older couple
sitting outside at a downtown café, chatting amicably, no doubt watching the horde
of cars invade their little town and reminiscing on times past. My frustration melted as I took in the sights.
Why are we always rushing, even when we have nowhere to
be? Why can’t we take a detour every now
and then, stop to get some lunch, chat with a stranger? Perhaps it’s the wannabe photographer in me,
but I was moved by that scene of an ancient bridge looming over a sleepy
town. Isn’t that the beauty of it all,
being moved by a scene that tugs at your soul?
From that point on, I did not regret my change in course. I simply basked in the pleasure of it,
knowing this is something I would never have seen if I did not get
derailed. My only regret is that I
didn’t stop to take a picture.
[As seen in Today in Peachtree City :) ]
So true. Last weekend we took a bunch of backroads on the way to the cottage instead of the regular, congested highway and it was so great. Windows down, shades on, music up and wide-open countryside. It was a great start to the weekend!
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