As Tom Cochrane’s “Life Is a Highway” blares from the radio, I glance back at my kids nestled in the backseat of our well-worn 2005 Honda Accord. I crank the volume and shout over the music, “You know this one!” Thanks to the film Cars, which I adored, it’s a song that resonates with every child. I don’t wait for their replies; instead, I crank it even louder.
With the radio dialed up to 20 and my speed hovering at 45 in a 35-mph zone, I’m embracing a fleeting moment of rebellion that my middle-aged self rarely indulges in. But deep down, I crave more. I want to push the accelerator, to let the music engulf us.
Flashback to 1992
I’m a college senior at Penn State. The sun shines brightly in March, and graduation looms just weeks away. Yet, I find myself without any job prospects, and honestly, I couldn’t care less. A few weeks ago, I turned down an interview for a career I didn’t even want. What was I searching for? The only thing I was certain of was that I felt youthful, hopeful, and alive with possibilities.
Of course, uncertainty loomed as well, but in that moment, it felt insignificant. I possessed the greatest treasure of all: time. Everything would unfold in its own time.
“Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long!” echoes in my mind as I reminisce.
My friend Alex suggests a motorcycle ride. I neither own a motorcycle nor have a license, but that doesn’t stop me. We drive to where he stores his bike. I hop on the back, clutching the straps tightly as we leave the gravel road behind. Soon, we’re weaving through the stunning mountains of Central Pennsylvania, completely alone with the open road ahead.
Thirty minutes later, we find ourselves soaking up the sun, sitting on the grass, exhilarated from the ride. We sip on Cokes, sharing our dreams and aspirations, knowing full well that by June, life will take us somewhere new. The familiar intro of “Life Is a Highway” plays from the boombox, and I turn it up once more.
“Life’s like a road that you travel on, when there’s one day here and the next day gone.” Those carefree days are so fleeting.
Suddenly, I’m jolted back to the present as my son, Max, whines, “It’s too loud!”
“What?” I reply, barely hearing him over the music.
“Please turn it down. It’s too loud.”
“But you like this song, right?”
“It sounds different.”
I’m tempted to explain how the version from Cars was altered, perhaps even dive into the realm of commercialism. “Yeah, it is a bit different,” I concede, smiling at Max while noticing my other son, Jake, covering his ears.
I lower the volume to a more manageable level and return to the speed limit, basking in the warmth of the sun.
As I sigh, my mind races with responsibilities: assisting the boys with homework, preparing dinner, sending out queries, exercising, washing dishes, preparing snacks, and tucking them into bed. The to-do list feels endless, and yet, time seems to slip away.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I press the accelerator once more. My children and I need to get home.
“Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long! If you’re going my way, I want to drive it all night long!”
This article originally appeared on May 3, 2015. If you’re interested in more about the journey of parenthood and the nuances of home insemination, be sure to check out our post on home insemination kits. For expert advice, you can also explore CCRM IVF for useful insights, and visit Intracervical Insemination for authoritative information on the subject.
In summary, life is a journey filled with highs and lows, moments of nostalgia, and the challenges of parenting. Embracing the ride, even when responsibilities loom, is a part of the adventure.