Exiting

There’s got to be just more to it than this
Or tell me why do we exist
I’d like to think that when I die
I’d get a chance some other time
Iron Maiden

I missed the exit.

We were going out to dinner and then to a movie. Which we rarely do because of cost. But Gary rarely turns 46, either, so we thought we’d make the night one of those rarelies.

The I-89 North ramp was closed so the department of transportation could blow up a ledge. I’m a bit foggy on the whys and other details of detonation, except for that it likely will be closed for a month. I think I could probably blow up something faster than that, but hey, no one asked me. I also think I might have tried to time the blowing things up with not having construction also occurring on the detour route going around the ramp.

But again, no one asked me. That’s okay, though, as people rarely ask me anything anyway. At least they don’t ask me things I want to be asked, like Would it be okay if I gave you some money and publish your work?

And besides, I had planned for it — we had planned for it — and left in plenty of time.

But exit 10, which was now an exit closer than usual since I went around the initial ramp before getting back on the interstate at Exit 9, came up faster than expected. I can’t say for sure why it did this, as I’m pretty sure that for the most part Exit 10 traveled at us at the same 65 mph that we drove at it.

“Weren’t we supposed to turn there?” Gary said, being right as he usually is about such things.

Now the blessing and curse of Vermont is all the gorgeous land. Miss an exit, and you’re frequently stuck traveling for several miles of it.

We nevertheless did make it to the next exit and had planned on navigating via non-interstate roads back to where we needed to go. However, getting off at the exit trapped us in stop and go traffic where stop dominated. So much so, I had one of those ideas that are much brighter at the time they occur than in the dim glow of the afterwards.

“I’ll get back on the highway and take us back to the exit we missed.”

Which might have been closer to a bright idea if the U-turn I made taking us in the opposite direction of the exit ramp we were on led us South. But the opposite direction in this case curved around to the not so much opposite direction of North.

We did eventually make it to dinner at the Depot Street Malt Shop. It took two exits further North and the same two additional exits back South again, for a grand total of four extra exits, to do so, but we made it.

We also made it to a showing of Gravity. Not the showing we planned on being shown, but a showing nonetheless, and one in 3-D, which is a good way to view things since that is how we view things.

The movie is good enough to deserve a good review.

And by good here I mean thoughtful as well as favorable, as in addition to cool effects it has philosophical layers to it which Gary and I talked about afterwards, with him adding insights I hadn’t thought about, which he usually does.

My life has been full of missed exits.

I missed an exit and stayed with a girl for five years. I missed an exit and ended up studying engineering. I missed an exit and dropped out of college. Several exits went by unnoticed but just as surely missed as I drank in a fugue state lasting several years, pulled over on the cold shoulder of life’s road.

Oh, I eventually got back on the road and found new exits.

I’m with a guy now. I’ve studied philosophy and graduated from college with a 4.0. I’m drinking mostly coffee now and trying to keep my car moving as well as pay more attention to signs along the way.

But damn, if I don’t feel old and wonder if it’s too late to really get anywhere; that there are no more exits of any consequence.

I act like it isn’t and like there are.

I volunteered at the Burlington Book Festival. I’ve started volunteering at RU12. I got appointed to the Montpelier Conservation Commission.

I am constantly looking for other ways that I can be in life motion, as the only way to find the next exit is to keep driving. But I’m also constantly racked with day-to-day doubt about not only the drive-ability of this used soul of mine, but the underlying metaphysical meaning of it that may very well not underlie it at all.

There has to be more than the force of gravity that anchors us to the world. Something inside us that pulls us not down but forward.

Sandra Bullock found her something when she had to.

I’m still looking…