One of the coolest parts about living back in my hometown is the nearness of my family. My brothers and I live very close to one another; we can get together whenever we want, eat each other’s leftovers, and adore nieces and nephews. My parents (perhaps in a desperate attempt to protect their leftovers) live across town, but that doesn’t mean I see them any less than I see my brothers. In fact, I probably see them more.
Your body learns and remembers the things that you do all the time: signing (or typing) your name, riding a bicycle, or dancing the Electric Slide. I go to my parents’ house several times a week, so I can pretty much do it on autopilot. Sometimes it’s tough for me to remember to make a stop on the way there if I need to put gas in my car or get my mom bag of marshmallows or something. My limbs are so used to me getting where I’m going that by the time I realize that I’ve forgotten the marshmallows, I’m usually a block from my destination.
When I’m driving, I let my mind wander. I look at billboards and bumper stickers and license plates. I think about chores I need to do and things I could write about and whether I need to wash my children in the near future. I don’t worry about a precise turn or missing an exit, because the car knows where it’s going. My inner autopilot gets me where I need to go.
And since I usually forget to grab lunch because of it, I’ll often end up eating whatever leftovers my mom has in the fridge.
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