United States of Everywhere

Bring in the string section. Turn on the lights. It’s my 22nd birthday. Paris is batting its lashes. Looking me up and down. Rolling its eyes like “do I know you?” And the song at the bar is like “welcome to your life/there’s no turning back”. And my beautiful friends tease me like “are you going to cry?” And I’m walking across the bridge towards The Louvre, thinking “holy shit, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive”. My heart inflating like a perfect red helium balloon. Floating up past the satellites.  

I am growing old. I am growing new. Singing, and spinning, and spilling my guts. The sun, and the cities, and the sea, and the sky, and the stars. They’re flickering and sparking and freckling at me. I’ve shed my skin so many times I lose count. Pulling out the stitches. Running white-hot. I feel it all. Head against the window of the car. Driving across the United States of Everywhere. I put my hand on my chest. I pledge allegiance to it.

You know me. I’m a sucker for it. The romance of it all. You tell me stories, because you know I like them–even when I’ve heard them before. Tell me about your hometown again. Tell me about high school again. Tell me about all the jerks, and the lovers, and your friends. Tell me about that time where you had too much and couldn’t keep your balance riding your bike home. Tell me where you were, where you are now, where you’re going. Tell me about that dream you keep having. Tell me again.  

Driving across the United States of Everywhere. Straight ahead on that highway stretching through everything. Turn left. Turn right. Dry your eyes. Put your foot down. Tilt your head. Turn on the radio. Are we there yet?

Well, would I know it if we saw it? Will we ever get there? If we weren’t there now, then when would we be? I’ve spent my whole life waiting for it. In the backseat–looking out the window–waiting. I find the old words I wrote at my mother’s piano this time last year: “I love the future/and the day that I’ll see it/get dressed every morning/just hoping I’ll meet it”. 

Bring in the string section. Turn on the lights. Are we there yet? My stomach drops. How could I have been so blind? In plain sight! There it is. Straight ahead on this highway stretching through everything. Ohh. Don’t stop the car. Keep your foot on the accelerator. We’re there. Right there. We’ve always been there.

Originally published on World’s Greatest Internship here