I used to do a lot of big drives in my 20s and early 30s. A different world. Different headspace. Must have logged at least 100k miles on 5+ hour road trips. Only lower 48 state I’ve somehow missed driving through is New Mexico.
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Squeezing life out of old memories is a bit like squeezing more juice out of an old sketchy looking partially squeezed half lemon you found wrapped in Saran Wrap in the fridge in the back
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People who move tend to move “with the times” in a sense. Movers and stayers kinda bear witness to each other’s lost lives.
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I can sense a sad-mode me to come via a future regeneration in about a decade that will be a powerful downer. You’ve been warned. Being is a continuous choice between melancholy of memory and sanguinary amnesia.
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Haven’t been back to the town I grew up in since 1997 when I was 22. That’ll be trippy when I eventually make it back.