Each time we set off for my aunt’s, I can’t help but wonder what the trek must have been like for early settlers. Chances are good, I would have never survived—a couple days in and I’d been thrown from the wagon train, left for dead, for whining if nothing else. I mean really, nowadays it’s about two hours of highway travel, and I can barely survive without snapping photos as we go . . .
Then again, I guess we all have our own uncharted territory, our own divots in the road—occasionally even a wheel will fall off. And just like our ancestors, we’ve got to find a way to make it through, to move forward, to make a new home in a new frontier . . .
I guess it’s a matter of perspective. After all, even weeds can be quite lovely, if viewed in the right light . . .
Perhaps Marcel Proust knew a thing or two; perhaps “the true voyage of discovery [does consist,] not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes . . .”