We each have our own private quests, those goals we tried — or keep trying — to achieve. As we struggle and strive, the process becomes its own destination
When my father taught me to drive, he told me, “Driving is one of those things in life where your first mistake may be your last.”
No pressure or anything.
I remember the first time he brought me to the highway. I felt like I was inside a blender. All those cars whooshing past was dizzying and overwhelming. I left the experience nauseated and shaken. Maybe the combination of driving and highways just wasn’t my thing.
Years later, when the shadchan apologized that my date (who later became my husband) was having trouble renting a car, I was overjoyed. People marveled at my flexibility and admired my willingness to take public transit on our dates. Me, I was just relieved to not have to be in a car on a New York City street.
But the night we got engaged, he rented one. And we sideswiped a bus on the way down Ocean Parkway, hitting another car in the process. We got engaged while waiting for the police to file a report. (Yes, really.)
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