on the road

Sometimes it feels like the only place that’s ever felt like home is the road.

I drove up to Northern Colorado this weekend to see my mother and her longtime friends. I found myself not wanting the 1 ½ hours on the open road to end. In my car, my foot heavy on the gas, it’s not that I find my thoughts still. Rather, it’s here that my thoughts become poetry, it’s where I undo my mistakes and find hope for the future. Where I forgive myself for the past and where I feel most present.

I drive with an open sunroof and songs. Songs I’ve heard and songs that are new. They remind me of what it means to live. I feel most alive when a lyric tells my story. When I find myself in the words of a melody. I hit replay until the edges soften, until the meaning settles in and I know what I’m meant to figure out.

The things I love most in this world right now are my dog and my guitar. Both of which are biding time back home in Mississippi. I ache for the familiarity of holding both, of feeling love in a way I’ve never known before.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m capable of being loved. The walls I build are thick, tall, protective. I don’t know how to allow that vulnerability again when the hurt from years ago still lingers. I could tell tales of what I’ve been through, but they wouldn’t make sense. It wouldn’t make sense, how these things hit me so hard. I feel more than I wish I did.

When I take risks, I feel rejected. It’s why I still live with walls.

On the road I do not have to be anything but myself. I don’t have to wear the walls. I can wear my hair loose or secured under a ball cap. I can get drunk on caffeine and the highway. I can sing too loud and out of key. I can remember things from the past, like my college roommate and the way our friendship ripped apart without my permission. I can remember the boy from high school that taught me about love and broken hearts and the grief of unexpected accidents. I can use the taillights of 18-wheelers to steer me toward the next exit, and here, I can finally breathe.

I will always remember the sting of rejection, the way a sunrise can hold grief and longing and hope all at once. I will always remember old friends, new homes, and the way it feels to blow out 30 some candles. I will always live for today and try to make tomorrow better. I will always love the way a lyric can tell my story. I will always remember the way the road feels like home.