“Halfway to Everywhere: Reflections on the Road and the Universe’s Conspiracy”
This morning, as I navigated my Jeep through the gentle patter of Southern California rain along a quiet country road, a song crackled through the radio, its refrain looping in my mind:
We are all halfway to somewhere, halfway to healing, and even halfway to home. The title escapes me, lost in the rhythm of the wipers and the soft blur of the landscape, but the words lingered, stirring something deep. They reminded me that we’re not just halfway to abstract destinations or states of being—we’re also perpetually halfway to some fleeting, insignificant milestone, like an age we’ll barely notice until it’s behind us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it all happen for you,” and I couldn’t help but wonder if that cosmic nudge was at play today.
My significant other, Patti, has her heart set on a few new additions to our life: sleek bathroom faucet fixtures and a bouncy Labrador retriever puppy to fill our home with muddy paw prints and wagging joy.
Today, the fixtures are being installed, the plumber’s tools clanking faintly in the background as I write.
Her dreams are taking shape, piece by piece, while mine drift elsewhere.
My spirit yearns to finish that little sailboat project gathering dust in the garage—its hull still waiting for a final coat of varnish—and to hit the open road on my motorcycle.
I dream of warm places where the sun kisses the horizon, where the scenery unfolds in breathtaking vistas, and where the air carries the bite of spicy foods I’ve yet to taste. New road adventures call to me, promising the kind of freedom that only comes with two wheels and an uncharted path.
The Covid pandemic, now stretching beyond its second anniversary as we roll into 2022, has reshaped the world in ways we’re still grappling with. Patti and I have adapted, learning to weave its presence into the fabric of our lives without letting it define us.
Older and wiser now, we often find ourselves reminiscing about simpler times—days when life felt less tangled, less weighted by the complexities of modernity. But were those days truly simpler, or do they just seem that way in the rearview mirror?
Today’s technologies—our smartphones, our reliable cars, our instant connections—are the new normal, smoothing edges that once cut deeper. In the olden days, travel was a riskier gamble.
Deaths per mile on horseback or early motorcycles far outpaced those in cars, where a breakdown could strand you for days. Now, vehicles hum along with barely a whisper of maintenance. I can still picture my father before every family trip, hood propped open, checking the oil, topping off the radiator, tugging at the fan belt, and giving each tire a ritual kick—spare included—just to be sure. That was diligence born of necessity; today, it’s a quaint memory.
George Bernard Shaw captured it perfectly when he etched into eternity:
“In this world there is always danger, for those of us who are afraid of it.” Fear can paralyze, but it’s the embrace of risk—the willingness to lean into the unknown—that fuels a life worth living.
Perhaps the world could use more souls chasing their passions, whatever form they take, lighting the way for others to do the same. Imagine a sculptor lost in their clay, a musician coaxing melodies from strings, or a rider like me, chasing the horizon—each a beacon, urging the hesitant to step forward.
Once upon a time, packing for the road was as simple as a bedroll and a tarp lashed across the handlebars of a motorcycle. That was enough to weather the nights, to carve out a slice of comfort under the stars. I still believe in road karma—the idea that what you put out into the journey comes back to you, whether it’s a kind gesture to a stranded stranger or a quiet respect for the miles.
Just as I trust the universe will conspire to bring Patti that Lab puppy one day, I feel it nudging me toward my own desires, aligning the pieces in ways I can’t yet see.
My true wealth, I know, lies in my family and friends—the steady anchors in a shifting world. When we ride and pause for the day, it’s not just about resting our bones.
We gather, we sit, we share. Over plates of food and glasses raised in quiet toasts, stories spill out—tales of the day’s triumphs, near-misses, or the next ride glimmering on the horizon.
There’s a rhythm to it, a warmth that turns strangers into companions and moments into memories. We talk of routes yet to be traced, of hidden diners with the best chili, of mountain passes that steal your breath. It’s in these exchanges that the journey deepens, binding us tighter with every laugh and every recounted mile.
So here we are, bidding farewell to 2021 and stepping into 2022 with open hearts. The year behind us delivered its share of challenges, but it also gifted me great memories and friendships forged along the way—some on rain-slicked roads, others in the glow of a campfire.
The song from this morning echoes still: halfway to somewhere, halfway to healing, halfway to home.
Maybe that’s the point—not to arrive, but to keep moving, trusting the universe to conspire in our favor as we go.
Trawlercat
Trawlercat Chronicles 