I don’t remember getting on Interstate 400.
There was no moment where I made a conscious turn and decided this would be my direction. It happened the way long drives always do. You start out aware. You know where you are. You know where you’re going. And then, somewhere along the way, the act of driving stops feeling like a decision and starts feeling like a condition.
You’re still in control. Your hands are still on the wheel. Your eyes are still open. But you’re no longer examining the distance. You’re no longer measuring the ground you’ve covered.
You’re just moving.
And movement, by itself, doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels normal. It feels continuous. It feels like nothing is wrong, because nothing has forced you to stop and account for how far you’ve actually traveled.
Until something interrupts the pattern.
Not physically. Mentally.
You look up. Not with your eyes, but with your awareness.
And by the time I looked up, I was already miles down the road.
Not because I wasn’t capable. Not because I didn’t care. But because nothing inside the motion itself demanded that I confront it.
Interstate 400 wasn’t a moment. It was momentum.
This podcast is where I stop pretending that momentum is invisible, and start studying it for what it really is.
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