“Fuck Trump”
“Fuck Trump”

Went for a drive. I needed to feel the pavement and the illusion of freedom the open road provides. I understand my contradictory nature. I chastise those for not wearing a mask, for not doing their part in preventing the spread of this godforsaken virus, yet I yearn for the open road and long walks through nature and cities. I finished my rewatch of Breaking Bad earlier this week, and I never felt as much of a connection to any piece of media more than I did on that shot of Jesse when he drove away from his past, his hand hammering the steering wheel and his roar of freedom and pain, his eyes looking ahead at the open road and toward an uncertain but liberated future.

What am I trying to run away from? It feels like I’ve been running away from something my whole life. One of my first memories is of my dad striking my mom and dragging her across the living room floor as her hand reached out toward me, her eyes wet with fear, her face roaring with pain. Fear and pain followed me throughout my childhood until I escaped and moved to Los Angeles. It followed me again when I moved back to San Diego after college, after trying and failing to find a job during the 2008 recession. I thought I had escaped it when I moved to Montana, but I can see it lurking behind me through the rearview mirror and no matter how far I drive, it’s always there.

Maybe I need to stop running away. Maybe I should stand up and fight whatever it is that’s stalking me. Or maybe it’ll always be following me, and I will need to keep running from it for the rest of my life.