Missed me?

I haven't been gone so much as trying to sort things out in my mind, understand topics that are kind of fuzzy and floating around that make me want to stomp my feet and say "but HOW!"  So I made a run to Deseret Book, picked up a few carefully selected titles -- as well as a few that were on sale since it was double point day and have been reading, pondering, journaling instead of blogging, lots of time spent outside on the swing.

Maybe when my composition notebook is full I can clean it up, edit it down a little (lot) and share -- I'm not certain yet which is why I've been journaling.  I'm not certain what should be shared and what not, at least not just yet.

While on a Saturday Adventure today my mind wandered to the old metaphor of life being like a road.  Heading up the canyon we saw lots of warning signs.  Road closed from Cedar Breaks to Brian Head, big trucks use alternative route, slow down twists and turns up ahead as well as steep climbs.  I wondered how many caution signs I've ignored in my life getting caught going too fast around a turn or running into a bunch of pot holes because I was too distracted by life to see the "rough road ahead" sign.  How much easier would my times of trial be if I'd been paying attention?  Sometimes though, landslides come out of nowhere with no warning or notice.  I think I've had a few landslides in my life too, left upside down in the canyon trying to figure out which way is up.

For a while I looked at life as a destination, not a journey always thinking the straight route between here and there has to be best, right?  A nice straight highway?  Turns out that the journey is more important than the destination and sometimes the best way goes along an old dirt road.

 Sometimes that "dirt road" is the kind of deer hunting trails where the road is the place with the shortest sagebrush with Grandma pumping an imaginary brake in the passenger seat while saying "honey..."  The end of those trips typically ended with beautiful views, good memories, and treats out of the wooden grub box.  The journey just as memorable as the destination and no asphalt or dotted lines to be found, speed wasn't as important as the view or time spent with family.

When you finally end up on the road you are certain is the right one, past the cattle guards, railroad tracks, mystery stink, and pot holes it turns out the road you are on is ending and you are left having to choose which way you should go.  The road wasn't suppose to end, and technically you could try to go over the sign and through the fence to continue the direction you thought you needed to be going but everyone can see that isn't a good idea.  Just takes a while to accept sometimes.

I don't know that I've ever made a post this vague or rambling, but it's late and I've had a long day.  My shoes are still dusty from the dirt road and running through the sage brush.