There’s a little country lane outside my hometown named Springhetti Road.  Just before it merges and disappears into the unromantic & all too common Broadway, it rises over a crest and the entire valley spreads out before you; nearly as far as one’s eye can see.

No matter my mood, that little patch of asphalt can lift my spirits and transport me  nearly anywhere.  I can be twenty years old again coming home from college or if I squint my eyes just so, I may be 10 miles up the 101 on the outskirts of LA.  Maybe I’m returning from a city book signing or on my way home from a European tour.  I could be eleven years old again, with my tanned legs sticking out of the passenger window of our old VW van with my mom’s Pearl Jam bursting out of the radio.

For the thirty seconds it takes for me to traverse that road, I can be anyone or anywhere.  And every night, after clocking out of my thankless job, I look forward to that moment, when I hit that crest and I am suddenly transported somewhere else, miles and years away.

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