In an effort to get myself writing again, I’m putting my own spin on something I have seen some other bloggers do, and do a post series. One blogger I follow does a series called “Alphabet, a History” in which she talks about different events in her life, one for each letter of the alphabet. I’ve decided to do mine through songs.
I tie pretty much every song I hear and like to a memory, a story or a time in my life. Music and writing (mostly fiction writing) went hand in hand when I was younger. So I’m going to jump back into it by putting the iTunes on shuffle, getting a song and then writing whatever it triggers. Practice, practice, practice.
Bright Lights by Matchbox 20
Maybe, maybe, maybe
You’ll find something
That’s enough to keep you
But if the bright lights don’t receive you
You should turn yourself around
And come on home
I don’t think I’ve ever driven as much as I did during the summer of 2008. Every weekend (almost literally), my now-husband-then-boyfriend and I would drive from right outside of Philadelphia to right outside of Manchester, NH – a nearly 9 hour trek when all was said and done.
There were a ton of family events going on that summer – christenings, communions (Catholics do love their sacraments), graduations, you name it. From May on, we would haul ourselves up to New England in our little 2007 Yaris and spend the weekends at home, crashing with friends of ours in the evenings, being with family for the one full day we had.
I wonder if part of us didn’t feel guilty (you know, the Catholic thing) for leaving in the first place. I often wanted to stay in Philly on the weekends- explore, hang out, go find reasons to make it home – but it wasn’t home. New England was home. And the two of us had up and left, something not a lot of our family or friends had ever done. It felt right, and it didn’t.
So, we got in the car and we drove. We talked, we made habits out of the Panera in North Jersey and Rein’s Deli in Connecticut, an old favorite of my husband’s. We drove in the dark until midnight, and got trapped in traffic right before the Tappan Zee bridge, no matter what time of day. The roads all looked the same after awhile. Both of us developed such a tolerance for long car rides that being in a car for two hours is STILL considered a quick trip by the both of us.
Where “home” is located for us is still a complete mystery. But I think of all those drives, and I think of what we were driving to, and I feel compelled to stay, just as much as sometimes I feel compelled to go.