Bold for the Autumn Day 3 and 4

When I drive on I-95 in from the NH/Maine border to Orono I always take solace in Orono not being listed as  the “farthest away distance” on the mile marker signs. Sure, Bangor is usually towards the bottom but Houlton is always further.

Yesterday, I spent all day driving to the furthest place on the list, Nashville, TN.

Apart from celebratory hoots and hollers I shared with myself after about 8 hours when I crossed the Virginia/Tennessee line, I spent the whole day driving I-40 west from the most eastern point in Virginia to Nashville. I learned I-40 is a major artery for the country’s 18-wheelers. There were as many trucks as passenger vehicles and truck drivers sure didn’t mind flipping their high beams at me to move, cutting me off or staring at me through their side-view mirrors for way too long. Moments like those are when I miss driving North on I-95 in Maine (did I just say I miss that?!).

Not that people in Maine are always nice drivers, they just aren’t bullies. My trip has been filled with many moments like this where I’m reminded how different Maine, and usually New England are from the rest of the country. Or rather how all places are so different. As I passed through the Smokey Mountains I felt closer to home but the Sugarloaf ornament hanging from my rearview mirror still reminded how I preferred my own local mountains better. In New York City, I headed to Central Park, the most natural place I could find for need of comfort. It is our nature, isn’t it, to find what is most similar to our own existence the most beautiful, or perhaps the most comforting? Constantly living in those comfort zones isn’t always what makes us learn and grow though. That’s why I’m here, in my car.

I’ve seen a lot in the past week although I haven’t made it past the Mississippi yet. In the past week I’ve driven through fields of corn, which likely fed the chickens I passed in a truck stuffed with the identical white nearly dead birds. They will go through Perdue and Tyson plants I drove by making them look more identical and then the Sysco plant I passed by will distribute them to grocery stores so people who live in the brick houses and manicured lawns I ran by can buy and eat them for dinner.

As different as all the places I’ve been seem, I’ve been overwhelmed with monocultures. Of course not all the people in these places are like that, but I feel like some sort of ghost among these spaces. Passing through long enough to get a snapshot but not ever changing the landscape in any significant way. At times, the routine of these places is something I crave, but I’ve been mostly rejecting routine along this trip, apart from a daily workout I do. Routine can be a tool to get a lot done in a busy time, and for me it often has been during school. A schedule can be comforting in times of change, but routine can also make us complacent—my most-feared adjective.

Complacency doesn’t scare us, challenge us or tempt us. Yet if removed, we can confront new experiences with curiosity, pleasure, and often reward.

As Chris McCandless said in Into the Wild,  “the joy in life comes from our encounters with new experiences,” I’d add and sharing them with people as well.

It doesn’t take driving across the country to avoid complacency but this is a challenge, to myself and you who is reading this. Try something new for an afternoon. Reject constant routine and go somewhere (physically, mentally, conversationally or otherwise) you’ve never been before.

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My music the past few days includes:

-“The Earth is Not A Cold Dead Place,” Explosions in the Sky

-“Favourite Worst Nightmare,” Arctic Monkeys

-“The Winter of Mixed Drinks,” Frightened Rabbitt