Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: May 3, 2015
Tom Cochrane’s classic, “Life Is a Highway,” is blasting on the radio. My kids are nestled in the backseat of our well-loved 2005 Honda Accord. I crank the volume up and cheerfully announce, “You guys know this one!” Thanks to the animated flick Cars, which I absolutely adored, every child recognizes this tune. Not waiting for their replies, I simply turn up the music even louder.
With the radio at full blast and my speedometer nudging 45 in a 35 mph zone, I’m pushing the limits of my middle-aged self. But the urge to hit the gas and raise the volume even more is palpable.
Flashback to 1992
I’m a carefree senior at Penn State, basking in the warmth of a stunning March day. Graduation is just around the corner, and job prospects? Well, they’re non-existent, but that’s perfectly fine by me. Just weeks earlier, I had turned down an interview for a career job—I had no interest in it, nor did I know what I wanted. All I feel is youth, hope, and endless possibilities. Sure, uncertainty looms, but it doesn’t faze me. Nothing seems pressing. I possess the most precious gift of all: time. Everything will unfold eventually.
Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long.
My friend, Alex, suggests a motorcycle ride. I don’t own a motorcycle, nor do I have the license to ride one. We drive to where he keeps his bike. I hop on the back, clutching the straps as we speed off from a gravel road.
We’re now in the breathtaking mountains of Central Pennsylvania, with no cars in sight. Alex revs the engine, and the motorcycle accelerates into the next gear. Thirty minutes later, we’re sprawled on the ground, soaking in the sun. The ride has left us both exhilarated and relaxed. We sip on Cokes, dreaming about the future. All we know is that by June, we’ll be somewhere else entirely.
As the familiar intro of “Life Is a Highway” echoes from the boombox, I turn up my all-time favorite jam.
Life’s like a road that you travel on, when there’s one day here and the next day gone.
With laughter, adventure, and a quick return to campus, it’s a moment to cherish.
“Can you please turn it down?” my eight-year-old, Max, complains from the backseat.
“Huh?”
“It’s too loud!”
“But you love this song!”
“It sounds different,” he insists.
I’m tempted to explain that the Cars version was a bit toned down and sung by someone else. I could even go on about commercialism.
“Yeah, it does sound a bit different.” I flash a grin at Max and glance at Lucas, who is covering his ears.
I lower the volume to our usual level 8 and ease up on the speed limit. The sun’s warmth washes over me, and I smile.
As I breathe out, my mind races with responsibilities: help the boys with homework, prep dinner, send out queries, work out, do the dishes, prepare snacks, and tuck them into bed. So much to do. And so little time.
I hit the gas again, racing home, where the kids and I have a lot to look forward to.
Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long. If you’re going my way, I want to drive it all night long.
This article was originally published on May 3, 2015.
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In summary, life is a journey filled with nostalgia and responsibilities, and while we may get caught up in the daily grind, the joy of family and the thrill of possibilities keep us moving forward.