I recently read a post from Seth Godin which got me thinking. (His words usually do.)
He referenced the early automobile and how roads were built to provide a path for leisurely drives out into the country. Families would take a ride on a Sunday to enjoy the scenery and perhaps stop along the way for a picnic. Hence, the concept known referred to as the Sunday driver.
You can picture pops behind the wheel, with mom and her bonnet secured tightly around her neck bouncing along a dirt road with no particular destination in mind. To me, that conjures up a delightfully civilized picture in my mind.
But in what must have seemed as a blink of an eye, came the highway, the expressway, the turnpike, the thruway, and the granddaddy of them all, Route 95. Yesterday’s Sunday driver soon became today’s target of abuse, foul language, chagrin, and a driver’s worse nightmare. I have found that the older we get, there is less of a need to arrive at our destinations faster than Mario Andretti circumvented lap 97 at Daytona.
I find my mind fast-forwarding to today as I live my twilight years up in the country nine miles north of Cooperstown, NY. I have an Amish family on my left and another Amish family on my right. They are wonderful neighbors both positioned out of sight from my immediate view.
To me, the Amish have a pretty good grip on this thing we call life. They have rejuvenated the term “Sunday Driver” as they clip-clop from place to place with strong horses pulling their sleek buggies behind at a pace that doesn’t create small cyclones of dirt in their wake. (I love the sound of horse hooves as it echoes across the hills telling me that somebody is on the move, albeit at a snail’s pace.)
For you readers who have yet to give any thought to your personal “obit,” I am not suggesting that you cease your frenetic pace altogether. I realize you have people to see, places to go, and tasks to cross off your to-do list.
What I am suggesting is that it might be in your best interest if you stop long enough, now and then, to “smell the roses” and to not be so quick to criticize those who find the time to do so.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not about to trade my Honda Pilot in for a horse and buggy. Not yet anyhow. I do however, look forward to Sundays when I can lay back, enjoy my surroundings and show gratitude for all the good things that have come my way in life. I also give thanks and credit to my Amish neighbors for reminding me that life is a daily event that should be experienced one day at a time, and not simply crossed off your calendar.
Mike Marchev is always looking for a few more proactive travel professionals to join his Sales and Marketing Club. email@example.com.
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