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I just finished reading Blue Highways, by William Least Heat-Moon It was beautiful.  Man in search of himself without a place to start.  Man in search of himself on the road.  Man in search of himself at journey’s end.  A familiar story. 

Why is it we are always taught we are going to get somewhere and that  the journey will end?  The author’s journey was a peaceful thing, tying together our common threads and our individuality in a way that made me feel not so alone.   I loved the people he met, the rain on his windshield, the taste of fresh fish, and the holding onto history as the vehicle through which we arrive at our future.  I loved more the metaphor of his small roads.  We think our lives are along the big highways, our achievements and milestones the things we celebrate and commemorate.  But really, it is the blue highways of our lives — the small twisted roads, the roads that end and force us to turn around, the hitchhikers and creeks we happen upon without intention that are the fabric of who we are and where we are going.  This book is about the process and the journey of self and it is well worth reading.