Not All Wanderers Are Lost . . .

 . . . unless you’re my hubby.

I recently went on a Sunday afternoon drive with hubby. I typically explore my surroundings on my own but this particular day I encouraged him to go with me. We  moved to North Carolina last year and since our time here is short, I want to experience everything I can. I want him to do the same. Whether he wants to or not.

 Earlier this fall when the  trees were absolutely glorious with color, I took a day and meandered across a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was so enamored with my adventure that I convinced hubby to repeat the journey with me. In his defense, I’ll admit it was colder. Most of the trees had lost their leaves. The sky was overcast. The wind had a bite. But by golly, it was the friggin’ Blue Ridge Parkway. Everyone who comes here should take at least one day and traverse a few miles just to say they drove it. Right?

 We stopped in a high country hamlet called Blowing Rock for lunch at a quaint little place called Foggy Rock Eatery and Pub. The food was quite tasty and well worth the drive. But being the wanderer I am, I suggested we continue our trek. That’s when things got interesting.

 Hubby and I are a good match. We bring out the best in each other, although sometimes it requires time and patience to realize it. Often, it requires a LOT of time. We approach life and tasks differently and that adds a dash of color to our relationship.

 So it came as no surprise when I realized hubby was driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway at maximum speed, eyes set firmly on the highway in front of him, totally oblivious to the vast layers of mountain ranges in the distance. I set my camera on “motion” and tried to take a few photos but alas, not even motion setting can overcome such speeds.

 The color began to emerge in our relationship. Unfortunately, it came out more in my language than our actions. Did he not see the scenic overlooks? Did he not care to stop and gaze at the vast beauty that leaves one in awe? Apparently not. But this man loves me dearly. He stopped at every third or fourth overlook and allowed me to take a few snapshots for mementos. Granted, he sat in the car with the engine running but realizing how difficult this little diversion was for him just made me love him more.

 And that made me realize we all approach life differently. It doesn’t make one style of direction better than the other. Both will still get you where you want to go, but one will ultimately be more satisfying than the other.

 Hubby likes to go from Point A to Point B. It doesn’t matter if there are no time constraints. The journey is all about the destination. I, on the other hand, enjoy taking my time to experience the little twists and turns along the way. I know I’ll get to Point B eventually but why hurry? I don’t mind being lost. I consider it a road less travelled that could provide a gem or two I might have missed otherwise. Hubby freaks if he doesn’t know where we are. Which is why I often tell him I know our exact location when I haven’t a clue. It makes him feel better. And if he’s not stressed, he’s a lot more fun.

 Since Hubby and I have been married, two things have happened. I’ve learned to arrive on time, both surprising and shocking my children who used to bet on how many minutes I would be late when I said I would meet them at a certain time. Hubby’s indulged my penchant for wandering aimlessly and has even chalked up a couple of memories which he now recalls with fondness.

 And both of us have realized compromise can sometimes break us out of our comfort zone long enough to provide a stellar experience.