Wednesday morning, 1:05am. It is the 58th time this year that the clock has ticked through 1:05, continuing on to 1:06. I take my third bite of pecan pie, sip my coffee, and return my gaze to the schools of snowflakes swimming past the window. I sit facing the corner, windows to my left and right. Waffle House. The bastion of lost souls and wayward travelers.
The servers are unusually humane. Humorous. Kind. The constant conversation thread revolves around the automobile accident that is backing up traffic on the expressway. 18 wheelers steadily trickle by seeking an alternate route.
Occasionally, events beyond our control interrupt our routine; they interrupt plans, block the route. And now we are faced with a decision. Stick to the plan, follow the route. Stay focused on the destination. Or take a risk and seek the alternate route.
A flicker of excitement in the pit of our stomach - a mind flash, weighing the cost, weighing the benefit; Will the detour provide a safe and quick passage? Will the extra time of the detour be less than the time it takes to sit and wait it out?
Perhaps there will be unforeseen treasures on the new route.
Perhaps there will be unforeseen pleasures.
Perhaps the winding road will overcome you, and the shortcut
now has cost you
more time, more resources.
Perhaps the destination will fade, and a new interpretation will arise.
A new context.
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