Backroads

The other day started out poorly.  I suppose I was tired, I often am if I don't keep the CPAP mask on all night.  Himself was away on a long business jaunt; I like it less and less to be left behind.  I misplaced keys, I tried to pack too much in to the morning; just dumb shoot-myself-in-the-foot things I do.

Later in the day I was driving home from an appointment.  I chose the longer but more scenic route.  The radio was playing some song that I was dancing to in my head.  One thought lead to another and I realized  how often I took the back road, the more scenic route in life. It takes longer to get to the destination, it is not as direct, nor efficient.  Sometimes the back road is dark, lonely, and scary.  It often is not the way people expect.

But I get where I need to be eventually, and usually have a great story to tell as well.

Like dancing in my head.  I do it often. I do it well.  Sometimes I skate too.  I wanted to dance when I was a girl. According to "them", I was too tall; I was  large boned.  I was not a prima ballerina type.  To my parents, dancing was ballet, period.  I guess it never occurred to "them" that my not so Margot Fonteyn physique did not disqualify me from other forms of dance.  Later in life, the backroads took me to ethnic dance, and ballroom, and theatre dance. I was pretty good after all.

But now I am traveling autumn roads, and  my time and season for dance is over.   So I dance in my head.  Oh, how I dance! I hardly recognize the confident, strong, free woman who dances on the stage of my mind.
But as I drove on that frosty afternoon backroad, I smiled.

Backroads are worth traveling.