Several years ago I drove from Seattle to Las Vegas to see some friends that were playing in a pool tournament. The drive through Nevada on that hot August day consisted of seemingly endless stretches of flat highway, punctuated only by an occasional mountain range.
I'd get a kind of highway hypnosis on those flat stretches, and my car would often ease up to over a hundred before I'd catch it and let off the gas.
When I'd arrive at the hills, there'd be several minutes of interesting scenery, and there'd be a timid, almost undetectable curiosity about what would lie beyond the hills.
It was always the same - another long stretch of blacktop, with another range far in the distance.
To cross one range, and see before me nothing at all between me and the next range, to know that the next hour or so of my life would mean nothing and would contain nothing of interest - that's a pretty good analogy for what's going through my head this morning.
Except that instead of an hour, sometimes I feel like I can see the next forty years. And instead of hills in the distance, there's nothing.
I think I need another vacation. I know what I need to do in order to break out of this rut.
I need to get off this road, shift my truck into four wheel drive, and go tearing across the desert. I need to risk something, break something, fix something, do something. I need to take a fucking chance, and steer toward a different horizon.