Just Go

She was young and cute. Twenty years old, or so. Hispanic features. I gave her my order, explained my predicament, and asked for advice.

Counter Girl thought about it. She cast glances over both shoulders as if she expected to be punished for being caught conversing with a vagrant. She then apologized and said she didn’t know what I could do.

I thanked her anyway and took my tray of grease, carbs, and sugar to a table. Out the window, headlights and taillights gleamed in the twilight streets. While chewing on my chicken sandwich, I perused the map app and did some thinking.

Is my situation life or death?

No.

Is it impossible to drive another hour, or two if I have to, to find somewhere to sleep?

I really don’t want to do that.

What I want doesn’t matter. Can I drive another hour?

Sure.

Can I drive all night?

All night?!

Answer the question!

If I have to.

Now an hour doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

No.

Can I—

I found a campground five miles away.

Better get a move on. I’m almost out of daylight.

The conversation with myself was, as it had been at the Great Sand Dunes, reinvigorating. I had no idea what I was doing, only that I was neither helpless nor hopeless. A new challenge had presented itself—a new opportunity to learn about the world and myself. An opportunity to grow by connecting my experience to that of anyone who’s ever blown into town to discover there’s no room at the inn.