Rest Area ____ miles

One of my best girlfriends recently met an amazing guy. He’s incredibly intelligent, went to a notable college and actually reads (in a day and age where People and Star are considered literature, I’d say she’s hit the mother load) . Gainfully employed as head engineer on an environmental energy project, I’d say the man is fully equipped with shit togetherness. And he’s foreign, so the accent completely works (believe her undergarments dropped the second he opened his mouth). But to all the American lads out there, no need to fret. You don’t need an accent to drop drawers, just need to have all the rest. The accent just puts the sweet, sweet deliciously sexy icing on our fabulous cake. So to speak.

So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.

I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.

You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.