I found myself driving around aimlessly a couple of days ago. I ended up driving past nostalgic places. I drove past my exes house, I drove past my childhood home, I drove past my old dance studio, and I drove past the engineering building on my college's campus. It was like someone flipped my brain into auto-pilot and pressed my foot down on the gas pedal.
While my brain wasn't thinking about the road, it was thinking about all the impulsive things I could do. It told me to drive to Milwaukee and visit my sister, brother-in-law, and new pug Brad. It told me I could go home, get my bike, and pedal my way to Portland to visit my Oregon friends. it told me to do something young and dumb.
My brain slowly realizing that it was dissociating, decided to call a friend even though I didn't know what I wanted to say.
As my brain slowly settled into reality, I realized there was one micro-impulse I could do. I could go to the beach.
When we had heard the definitive news that Andrew had passed, this was my first response. In the wake of grief, I wanted to go to the beach.
So I went on my way to the lake. When I arrived, I sat myself down on top of a sand dune. From my perch, I could see the waves churn and toss about the shore.
I then decided to run down the dune like I did when I was little. I felt the rush. It felt like my feet could fly. That if I could keep moving, I could run from one coast to the next.
Once I had reached the waves, I tried skipping rocks. I believed then too, that if I could throw one at just the right angle, with just the right velocity, I could span Lake Michigan as of it were a puddle on the sidewalk.