Several times over the last couple of months, my job has dictated that I drive to an area not far from where the family would go on vacation many times over many years. It was a long drive back then and an even longer drive now. The distance hasn't changed, and the reality is that because this is "off season," the traffic isn't backed up - so if anything, it's actually less time now than it was back then.
It just feels longer.
What makes it feel longer is the same thing that makes visiting not only less enjoyable, but downright depressing. It's the fact that I'm not hearing the chatter - excited or otherwise, of the kids sitting or even snoozing in the seats behind me.
Today, I got to where I needed to be a little early and I briefly toyed with the idea of driving a few towns over, to where we used to vacation, just to... I'm not sure why. But I decided against it. It wouldn't be the same. In fact, it would be the opposite of the same.
These memories are fond when I'm sitting at home, and even more so when we're sharing them together. But being back here, alone... well, that's a little bit different.
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