At the end of this decade, I was driving on an American highway – the Interstate 10 to be precise, in dense fog, at 2 am. I started my drive at the east-most point of I-10. If I drove West long enough, this road would take me all the way West to California. I wasn’t going West, though, just a few hundred miles away, home. Alone in the eerily beautiful swirling white fog, I thought about the ending year. 2009 brought me a new career, my first published book, a new life. I couldn’t see too far ahead of me, but I kept going, enjoying the apparitions of trees that revealed themselves as trees when I was right next to them, and the shining lights of oncoming traffic that became clear for a moment – a Mack truck, a Thunderbird, a garden variety Camry – as they passed me, and diminished into fireflies glowing for seconds in my rear view mirror before disappearing into the blackness. E.L. Doctorow said “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Writing, to me, is exactly like driving a familiar highway to a familiar destination at an unfamiliar time. I see nothing until it is upon me, but I know, if I keep going, I will get there. My book was written much like this drive. But, I thought, not just writing, but life itself has been very much like this drive. I am full of anticipation to see what I will see next, and where I will stop, and to find out what those shapes and lights are that I can vaguely make out in the distance. I don’t mean to be trite, but I did have a moment there of really getting it: We all know what the destination is. It’s the journey that’s the fun part. It’s the revelations. So though I’ve said it before, I wish you, my reader, my friend, my family, whoever you might be, a journey of discovery. Of yourself, and the world.
Tags: E.L. Doctorow, fog, I-10