As Tom Cochrane’s classic “Life Is a Highway” plays on the radio, I find myself in the driver’s seat of our well-worn 2005 Honda Accord, with my kids nestled in the back. I increase the volume, eager to share this familiar tune with them—a song that, thanks to the movie Cars, is beloved by children everywhere. I don’t wait for their reactions; I just crank it up louder.
With the radio blasting at full volume and my speed creeping over the limit, I push the boundaries of my middle-aged self. But deep down, I crave that feeling of exhilaration. I want to experience it all—the freedom, the music echoing through the open air.
Flashback to 1992
I’m a carefree senior at Penn State, basking in the warmth of a radiant March day. Graduation looms on the horizon, yet I’m unfazed by the lack of job offers. Just weeks ago, I turned down an interview for a corporate position I had no interest in. I was lost but blissfully unconcerned.
The world felt full of promise. I felt young, filled with hope and endless possibilities. Sure, uncertainty lingered, but it didn’t matter. I held the greatest treasure of all: time.
“Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long,” I would sing along with my friends. They were moments of carefree laughter and dreams shared under the sun.
One sunny afternoon, my friend Jake suggested a motorcycle ride. I had no bike or license, but the thrill of adventure called. We drove to his motorcycle, and I hopped on the back, gripping tightly as we sped down an empty mountain road in Central Pennsylvania. After a thrilling ride, we settled on the grass, soaking up the sun, sipping on sodas, and discussing our aspirations. The unmistakable intro to “Life Is a Highway” played from a nearby boombox, and I cranked up the volume as we reminisced.
Back to the Present
Now, in the present, my 8-year-old son, Max, interrupts my reverie. “It’s too loud!” he complains, his hands pressed against his ears. I glance back at him and his brother, Leo, and realize the song does sound different from the one they know. I could explain how the version in Cars was softened, but instead, I simply turn it down to a more manageable level.
As I slow the car to the speed limit, the warmth of the sun washes over me, and I begin to mentally compile my to-do list: help the boys with homework, prepare dinner, send out queries, exercise, tackle chores, and finally, get them to bed. The responsibilities loom, and I can’t shake the feeling that time is slipping away.
“Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long,” I sing quietly, wishing for just a little more time to savor each moment with my children.
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In summary, life unfolds much like a highway—full of twists, turns, and unexpected moments. Embrace the ride, whether you’re a parent navigating responsibilities or a college student chasing dreams. Each moment matters.
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