| Not Moving Place to Place Is Hard written by Lane Hudson |
Last week, I locked my keys in my car for the fourth time in a year, or an average of about once every three months. Staring at my keys dangling from the ignition, while standing outside my car, is a helpless feeling. To make it worse this time, the keys in the ignition were turned to the accessory position, and my radio was blaring. Unfortunately, I did not have time to see about unlocking the car, and saving my battery, because friends were waiting for me to go with them out of town for the weekend. They were yelling for me to hurry me up. Unfortunately, I knew that three days later, upon my return, my car would still be locked, but with a very dead battery. “Wire an extra key under your car,” they said. I responded, “That’s too easy,” You see, each time it happens, I vow to myself it won’t happen again. Maybe it has to do with a male genetic flaw, something I’ve been accused of having, something about how “men never learn from their mistakes.” However, after locking my keys in my car dozens of times over the years, I believe, at last, the real meaning of my forgetful act is coming to me. I think it is a mysterious message, from beyond, telling me to slow down, to “stop and smell the roses.” You see, I do drive a lot. I always have. My first new car, 30 years ago, came with a 36 month, 36,000 mile warranty. The warranty was out of date within 11 months – because I had driven more than 40,000 miles. And things haven’t changed for me in 30 years. Today, my 2005 P.T. Cruiser has passed the 125,000 mile mark. Sitting or standing still has always been hard for me. I can’t watch a movie video without getting up a dozen times. Fishing is torture for me. Playing card games takes too long. I’ve never played Monopoly because it can’t be played in five minutes. I’ve been told I have the attention span of a strobe light. So, in some way, my answer to boredom has always been to keep moving down the highway. It probably began when my friends and I were teenagers, and we’d just get in a car and cruise between Rockingham, Hamlet, and Laurinburg – circling Tom & Sarahs, The Hub, or The Honeycomb. Restlessness fueled our bodies the way gas fueled our cars. And just maybe, the 17th century French philosopher Blaise Pascal had it right when he wrote, “All the unhappiness of men comes from one thing: not being able to remain at rest in a room.” A lesson I’m still learning today. |
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