It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. (Confucius)
Reflections of branches and trees will eventually merge with dust and mud on the gray hood of my car. Travel continues.
Television noise fills my brain. A game show celebrates money, the superficial, and glamour. I try to ignore the clamor and read. The written words slide into the air with the program’s artificial I-win hype. Auto repair commotion adds to the confusion.
My car needs help as it ages. I am grateful I own a car.
Finally, I am the only customer in the waiting room. I ask for a quieter program and the mute button appears from someplace behind me. I escape into the semi-freedom of flashing, soundless color. Hours pass. I notice the opening and closing of restroom doors. Basic, banal. Both personal and universal.
“Would you like to watch the news?” an employee asks.
I do and I don’t. The news feels like minor surgery without anesthesia. This station is owned by Sinclair Broadcasting. Its viewpoint is monitored. And limited.
The vote count will continue in an endless loop. I voted early. My husband and I spent election day outside the polls. Encouraging voters. Soaking in sun. Returning an occasional frown with a smile. My choices focus on opportunities—for people who don’t have them. I do not want a senseless battle; it creates war. But I don’t want complacency either.
No matter how the results emerge, I cannot give up. No vehicle, no moment, no individual shines forever.
Move on. Move up. Fall, but find the light again. And again. And again.
terrypetersen 