Life is a…

I don’t think Tom Cochrane got it exactly right when he wrote “Life is a Highway” back in 1991. I mean, I get the intention of the metaphor. But highways are linear, generally well-paved, have clearly-marked exit signs, and show up on maps so you can easily plan your route from one place to another. They also typically have Starbucks dotting the side streets every few miles. At least if you’re in somewhat populated areas of the country, anyway.

Life is exactly none of those things.

There is no map. Nothing is linear. Shit gets rocky. Plans fall apart. Coffee runs out.

Highways carry thousands of people who are all somewhat headed in the same direction, at roughly the same speed, like a perpetually moving sea of marching ants. I used to think that most people were, more or less, also headed in the same direction. We all start out as kids, grow up, go to school, figure out what we want to do, somehow make it through adulthood (if we’re lucky) grow even older, and then pass away. In super general terms, I guess that’s a direction. But if the specifics of what happens in-between birth and death—which are really just two fixed endpoints—is completely unpredictable and unique to each human (and maybe other living beings, too), then is that really a direction, or just a destination?

I don’t know where any of this is going. (See? No map here.) But I’ve been thinking a lot about all of the unplanned detours and cracks and speedbumps I’ve encountered in my life so far. By all accounts or comparison (I know, comparing is not healthy), I’ve had a pretty easy go of things. I have benefited from a ton of privilege that I’ve only recently begun to understand, and recognize as a tool to fight for others who haven’t had the same advantages.

Still.

I grew up in a strictly religious household, which meant I missed out on a lot of normal kid things.

My parents fought all the time.

My parents loved me.

I had deep self-esteem issues as a teen, and was probably depressed.

Because of how I felt, I know what to look for in my own kids.

I experienced some sexual trauma my freshman year in college that I repressed until literally a week ago.

I met my best friend in the world, my sister, my person, that same year.

I fought my way through a male-dominated industry which exacerbated my lack of self-worth, perfectionist tendencies, and workaholism.

I have achieved professional success, won awards, and was the first female executive in my current agency.

I had undiagnosed postpartum depression after my first child was born.

I was formally diagnosed with depression and anxiety later on, and had the financial means to get the meds and therapy I needed (and still benefit from today).

I suffer from PMDD.

I know how to manage my PMDD.

I spent 3 months flying back and forth from Atlanta to FL to be with my family while my dad was dying.

I thank God that we were all with him when we passed away.

I have battled disordered eating and orthorexia, and believe that I’ll be in recovery for the rest of my life, because I know how close I’ve come to relapsing.

I know when I’m approaching the edge and have learned not to judge myself, but to breathe till it passes.

I have two healthy, energetic, hilarious kids.

I am re-learning how to parent one of them who is neurodivergent.

I have thought my marriage was falling apart, multiple times.

We somehow always manage to work through it and come out the other side stronger.

I have contemplated quitting my job, going back to school (for what? who knows), and reinventing myself multiple times, too.

There’s still plenty of runway for that to happen.

Nothing on this page was planned. Good, bad, easy, hard. I have no idea what’s next.

My life is not a highway. It’s maybe not even anything that can be represented in 2 or 3 spatial planes. If we as humans have the ability to turn inward towards our thoughts and emotions, express those things outwardly, gain knowledge, lose interest, interact with others, move forward and backward in geography and progress, and who knows how many other “directional” shifts…then maybe there isn’t really a metaphor that works for describing whatever this life really is.

As a word nerd, I appreciate metaphors in general. They’re super handy for trying to explain a concept that’s nebulous or intangible. But I think, for me, anyway, there’s no metaphor that’s broad enough for this.

My life is my life. And that’s all.

It’s messy, it’s unplanned, it’s beautiful, it hurts, it’s a gift, it’s fully mine to own (and to choose what we do with it), and it’s a different experience for everyone.

Right at this moment, when it feels like so many of our basic human rights are being stripped from us by our government, this idea that “my life is my life” is bringing me some kind of comfort. I’m still the one and only navigator of me. I can only make the next right choice, because no one knows what’s going to happen after that. I can appreciate everything that’s already happened and try to grow from it. I can be kind, and compassionate, and supportive (to myself and others). I can keep being curious. I can learn. But it’s a dangerous endeavor to try to map out anything too far ahead. Life is not a highway, and I don’t think it was ever meant to be.

Like Doc Brown says to Marty McFly in Back to the Future, “Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads!”

We just need our own internal compass.

And maybe some snacks, and a few good playlists, for the ride.