The Long Way Home

I was driving the other day when it occurred to me that I never really wander anymore.

Not in the sense that I’ve forgotten how to walk or drive somewhere. I still do plenty of that. I just seem to have a reason for every trip now. Work. Groceries. An appointment. Picking something up. Dropping something off. It feels like every time I get in the car, I’m trying to get somewhere instead of simply going somewhere.

When I was a kid, that wasn’t really how it worked.

The world always seemed incredibly big. A patch of trees wasn’t just a patch of trees. It felt like more of an endless forest. It was something to explore. And a creek wasn’t something you crossed on your way to somewhere else. I’d disappear on my bike for a few hours with no real destination. If I found a trail I’d never noticed before, I’d take it. If there was a creek, I’d follow it for a while just to see what was around the next bend. Sometimes I’d end up somewhere interesting. Sometimes I’d just circle back home covered in dirt with nothing to show for the afternoon except a story I’d probably exaggerate over supper.

Looking back, I don’t think the world was any bigger than it is now. I think I was just more willing to let it surprise me.

I don’t remember deciding to stop wandering. I doubt anybody does. One day there was a driver’s licence instead of a bicycle. Then there was work, bills, calendars, and all the little things that quietly fill a life before you even notice they’re there. Before long, every trip had a purpose.

And somewhere in all of that, I got very good at getting where I was going.

I’m not much different from everyone else. If I’m heading across town, I’ll usually think of two or three other things I can do while I’m out. The GPS picks the fastest route before I’ve even left the driveway. If I save five minutes, it somehow feels like I’ve accomplished something.

I’m not sure when every spare minute became something that needed to be optimized.

Every now and then, though, something catches my eye. I’ll pull out my phone and take a picture, not because I’m trying to be a photographer, but because I don’t want to forget it. Most of those pictures will probably never be looked at again. They aren’t masterpieces. They’re little reminders that, for a moment, something made me stop. A strange cloud. Sunlight coming through the trees. An old building I hadn’t noticed before. Whatever it was, it pulled me out of whatever was waiting at the end of the drive and brought me back to where I already was.

And I think that’s what I miss.

Not getting lost.

Not having anywhere to be.

Just following my curiosity for a little while and seeing where it led.

When we were kids, we didn’t measure a good afternoon by how much we got done. We measured it by what we found. Sometimes that was something genuinely interesting. Sometimes it was absolutely nothing. Neither one felt like time wasted.

Life doesn’t leave as much room for that anymore. That’s just part of growing up. There are responsibilities that matter, and I’m not pretending otherwise. But I do wonder if we’ve become so focused on getting where we’re going that we’ve forgotten to notice everything in between.

Maybe the world never became smaller.

Maybe we just stopped exploring it the way we did when we were kids.

Maybe next time I’ll take the long way home.

Not because I’m expecting to discover something remarkable.

Just because I’d like to remember what it feels like to look.