The Road to Nothing
Like all things born of silence, it began without permission. The day was overcast, the road unbending. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I knew I wouldn’t stop until the quiet became unbearable. That’s the funny thing about nothing — it doesn't announce itself. It waits.
Somewhere past the fourth exit I didn’t take, I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud in hours. No music. No podcasts. Just the sound of tires and tension. That’s when I started to feel it — the dread that comes when your mind finally catches up to your body. The kind of dread that doesn’t ask permission either.
I used to think silence was peace. But silence... silence is a test. It asks: What have you become while no one was looking?
By the time I pulled off for fuel, I felt lighter. Not free. Just aware. There is something sacred about that moment — the moment you become a witness to yourself.
This post isn’t about a destination. It’s about a state of mind. A road to nowhere still teaches you something, if you let it.
And if you’re lucky, it keeps going.