A Road Less Travelled

Yesterday I pulled onto our street and had a vague feeling if surrealism. Had I pulled onto the right street? I must have–I distinctly remembered seeing the sign. So why couldn’t I see our house?

After a few seconds of feeling utterly ridiculous for not being able to recognize the street or my own house I realized what was so odd. There were no cars parked around our driveway. I always drive between the red car on one side of the street and whichever car happens to be parked on the other side of the street and then pull into the driveway, avoiding James’ convertible parked on the other side of the driveway. James’ convertible isn’t always there, but the other cars are nearly inalterable conditions of life. I wasn’t even sure I could park in the driveway without having cars around to avoid.

I’m not sure that this realization made me feel less ridiculous, but it did restore my faith in my ability to drive home without getting lost. It also made me realize how quickly I get used to life being a certain way, and how rarely I realize it until life changes.

Somehow, I have managed to make a deep and bizarre experience out of the fact that the neighbors happen to use their cars on occasion. No wonder my life can seem so complicated.