Tonight, as I was driving home, a song popped onto my iPod that I haven’t heard in years – one of those buried tracks that only shows its head when the machine is set to shuffle.
The summer of 1995. North Carolina. Driving around in my red Chrysler Duster, looking for some ladies. You know.
As I drove, I started remembering things about that time in my life. How everything seemed possible. How I’d drive around for hours, burning gas even though I was poor as hell. Just because there wasn’t anything else to do. Because – what if? What if the person I was supposed to be with was out there driving around at the same time? Listening to the radio, waiting for my favorite songs to play. Turning them up. Driving fast.
I don’t miss that time in my life. But I do miss those moments of “What if” when I’d take to the muggy streets of Hickory, North Carolina. Looking for adventure, love, or maybe even just somebody to see a movie with.
I do miss the moment when that song comes on the radio and my entire body reacts. Because everything is tied up in that one moment.
I came home burning to write.
Inspiration is such a weird thing, isn’t it?