Highways

If life is a highway, I want to ride it my entire life, not merely all night long. That is to say, I’d like to still be riding the highway of life when morning comes, and if not, well then at least it was, indeed, for the rest of my life. Genuine highways, or at least interstates, don’t terminate at the precipice of some cliff where the highway would disappear in an immediate cascade into the oblivion, but rather bleed into smaller byways, typically is some major city center. In other words, the highway never actually ends, it merely lends itself to the next progression of roadway. Such is life. In one sense, life does end, for some very dramatically and others in a very tempered, melancholic sort of way. But it never truly ends, but merely lends itself to the continuation of the next phase, with more of a comma than a period punctuating each death. While Led Zeppelin thought they were on a “Stairway to Heaven”, AC/DC didn’t mind sharing that they knew they were on the “Highway to Hell”. Highways do have destinations, but thanks be to God, they also have exit ramps. The route can indeed be “recalculated”.