To go into solitude, Emerson wrote, one needs to leave his study as well as his society. While I’m sure Emerson was thinking about spending time in the woods communing with nature, I have an aversion to bugs and dirt, but I find driving works for me.

I love to drive, but nothing under 500 miles interests me. It takes about 500 miles for me to reach that state I call solitude. 500 miles and the muscles numb, the senses dull to the sites and sounds of the road. Around 500 miles and I’m beyond bored. I drive at night (it’s safer for women traveling alone to drive at night, so a State Trooper told me, because people can’t see who’s driving until they pass), but driving at night means there are no visual distractions. After 500 miles, there’s nothing and there’s nothing to do, but to go into solitude.

I need to clear my head. There’s so much going on in my life and in my mind, but for reasons I don’t understand, I’m paralyzed. I’m at one of those pivotal points in life and I need to think, so I’m going for a drive. I don’t know where I’m going or when I’ll go home, all I know is I’m going south because its warmer.

I’m turning off my cell phone and putting it under the seat.

Writing is thinking and I’m determined to think this through. I’m going to write my way out of this and I’m decided to post it (it gives the trip some structure). I’m not going to worry about my students, my boss, my family or friends. I’m going to be honest and post blogs without concern. I don’t know if anyone is going to read these, I’m doing this for me.