ten lanes across

Away up I-5 from here, past mountains wearing cloud pinafores and showing snow-laced petticoats, there’s a wide spot in the freeway, four lanes in each direction, with a new express lane being constructed on each side. I remember the area well. The exit sign reads Fife Milton, and if you’re heading north, off to the left there is (or was) a two lane boulevard curving past trailers and mobile homes. They comprise (or they did) the first park Tim lived in, at the time we dated, and I’ll never forget our moments there in his travel trailer. Ah, Dr. Pepper and Alan Parsons. Those were the days, before casinos with glitzy, movie-imagery signs.

Last Friday I rode south past that exit and signposts old and new, pondering not so much romantic memories as the way the wide-flung freeway mirrors my life and writing. One lane at a time, I ride or drive the currents of my journey. As circumstances dictate, I switch, then change lanes back again. The pathways merge at times, then some go away and others return.

I might label these lanes of living my differing structures, or perhaps contexts. They’re the places in which situations take place. “While traveling in the far left lane,” I might have to write on an insurance report someday, “I was rear-ended, when everybody had to stop due to rush hour traffic, by the Cadillac that had been riding my tail.” Of course, I hope never to pen that sort of story. I’d rather tell my family how a guy zoomed up to within inches of my rear bumper and remained, until I sighted an opening on the right and slipped out of his way just in time. In either case, though, I’ve got a tale about my situation in its context.

As I’ve worked on stories from real life, it’s often been too easy to mix and mash my situations and contexts. Linear thinking isn’t me, exactly. If I drove the way I write, I’d often be weaving from lane to lane like a casino-tripper who’s tipped back one too many.

But I like this visual I’ve discovered, this idea of lanes. All through the system, traffic ever flows, and yet I must choose to travel within one lane at a time. Referring to others across the way is fine, as long as I stay put. Some days I really need to see that sign commanding, “Do not change lanes, 100 feet,” or whatever. My situation is here, in this portion of life’s highway, and that’s where I need to be as I depict, express. Once we get past the rest stop two miles up there I can change lanes.