I’m currently listening to a book on CD in my car – The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. And I’m hooked. Each time I turn on my car I find myself transported to France in the midst of World War II. I’m totally wrapped up in the stories of two strong, fierce women existing in maddeningly horrifying times. I wipe silent tear from cheeks at stoplights, gasp in surprise or terror, and cheer for each accomplishment.
Because I’m so engrossed, I’ve been taking the long way everywhere. I travel back roads home, hoping for red lights. I leave a little early for work and sit in the parking lot soaking in a little more of the story before starting my day. And I will admit to finding the most circuitous route to the grocery store.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to bear getting back in my car when the story ends, to return to the hurried, rushed driving routines that are more often than not a part of my day. I suppose I’ll just enjoy the long way for now.