I’m giving myself a mulligan.
We rode in my GMC. It’s a truck. We smoked cigars. A lot of them. Some of them were small and some were big. Like the mountains we were driving in. It’s easy to become lost in the North Woods. There are hundreds of miles of wilderness. No lights. You can drive and drive and see nothing but forest and Moose. I capitalized that for fun. Sometimes we would stop and have a beer. We’d get out of the truck and someone might say, “It is time for a beer?” None of us would look at the time.
I love those old roads. The dust. The freedom. I smash my mind thinking I know what real freedom is and how it’ll ruin this writing now but I’ll write it anyway. Freedom is being debt free. That means all debt. And to shed mental debt is the most difficult kind. So, when I drive the old roads, and pull over for the massive logging trucks, and we whistle to the old Golden Road, I am as free as I’m going to be in that moment.
Cheers. I like this one much more.