Toured To Death

The road is not for everyone. It's not for most, I'd say. Non-stop driving, endless asphalt, a flipbook collection of motel rooms, the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows. Any one of these aspects would be enough to burn most folks out, frustrate them to no end, make them throw in the towel. I'm hesitant to say there are no rules out there, because there are. It's just that they aren't conventional, and they most certainly aren't fair. But if you keep at it long enough, it becomes part of you. Between the tedium and rigor, there every once in a while comes reward, though not in the traditional sense. Sometimes it's just an experience that nudges you back from the edge and lets you know it's all worthwhile. Other times it manifests in the form of a situation you find yourself in that pushes you beyond comfort and commonsense then breaks you apart with no promise or guarantee of being put back together. This is how you find out who you really are and what you're made of. Sometimes we make it there and back. Sometimes the road takes control and never lets go. Sometimes you're just toured to death.