Last Friday, a traffic incident-cum-environmental disaster on the only highway between Los Angeles and Las Vegas abruptly stopped traffic in both directions for half the weekend. K. and I, coast-bound from Vegas, found ourselves caught without any warning in standstill traffic for the better part of 2 hours, surrounded by furious motorists like a miles-long column of vibrating atoms trapped on the two-lane highway as night fell.
I have not been posting in here as frequently as I had hoped back when I shared the case for kindness. Life has been stop-and-go lately, bumper to bumper, everything all at once or moments of nothing that feel stolen. I like to write, but I forgot when I started here that I am obsessively careful to curate what I share.
I am still trying to be intentional about being kind, more genuine. K. reminds me so when I worry aloud about the lack of work I’m putting out: that this hobby is first and foremost a passion, and only secondly a project. She says I am reminding her to be more “present” in turn.
Here is a letter I wrote to her as she sat in the passenger seat and paced the highway outside the windshield:
We passed Baker an hour ago doing 70 and have crawled about 10 miles since. A truck carrying batteries spilled over on the interstate and caught fire this morning, triggering a highway shutdown without telling anybody. On this singular stretch of desert road between LA and Vegas, that means holidaymakers have the option of diverting their route 200 miles down mostly dirt trails or sitting at rest on the interstate for an unspecified amount of time. It’s probably for the best that no one warned us of this, because then we would have had to choose our fate - which is always infinitely worse for me than playing the cards as they are dealt. As it is, we have less reason to regret our choices now, and more time to enjoy this unexpected time together.
The horizon is dark this far out in the desert, and we are too high in the Mojave for a connection reliable enough to be able to waste this precious time scrolling. Strangers are getting out of their cars, laughing along the sagebrush median, walking dogs and watching for the trickle of cars up the northbound side of the freeway to pause again. It is nice to be together this far out on the lonely interstate.
The radio went off about 40 minutes ago, 5 miles back. It is just you and me, the rumbling of big rigs in the right lane and the immortal desert winds beyond the shoulder. The sky is dark, but when the SUV behind us cuts his engine to save gas and the headlights go out, the firmament lights up with the Milky Way and a thousand million constellations. Occasionally a few intrepid commuters jeep-crawl past us in the dirt, but we are all going the same way. We are in no hurry, now that the flow of traffic has been forced to a stop. Highway patrol is making their rounds up and down the frozen road, ordering people back into their cars just until they are out of sight again. When they catch up with the shoulder-drivers, will they send them to the back of the line?
At a standstill on the interstate in the middle of nowhere, we are exactly where we need to be. I am so lucky to be here with you.
K. and I are starting a newsletter of our own soon, when the traffic clears and we can enjoy the process.
In the meantime, may you have safe travels and continue to arrive precisely when you need to.
TG
dictated but not read