east coast rambler

I have put thousands of miles on my car in this post-graduation summer. Broken promises, listened to hours of audiobooks and drank seltzer water to the point of bubbling over.

My endless wandering has been seemingly the only consistency in my life. The road is always there for me. It doesn’t matter the destination, or what I am running from, as long as I am running. I guess it’s not that I’m running from anything really. It’s that I’m afraid to stop running. You know how your legs, after a few miles, feel fluid--the motion a part of your subconscious.

I have begun to fear committing to one local.

Looming on the horizon lies August 12th. August 12th is the date I commit. I stop moving and start digging in. I will begin digging the trench that will, hopefully, become the foundation upon which I build my career. The less round-about way to spell it out is to say that I begin, officially, working on that date. I begin working, and although I have yet to truly define what my dream job is, I must begin to work as though it were my dream job. This mental state will help me wake up every morning. In the same bed. Take the same route to work. And feel satisfied by what I have accomplished that day, when I lay down to rest my head.