I had to do a lot of driving today which is always an adventure when such driving is hosted by the lovable (and unpredictable) Roy the Raging Tempo. I was on my fourth trip down the length of the Dulles Greenway when I glaced at the white lines separating the two lanes in my direction. Those lines looked like mere dashes as I sped by them at 70 (speed limit is 65, I wasn't being reckless, ok?). At that moment I remembered that a friend of mine had once told me that those dashes are actually six feet long. Six feet; that is taller than me. But from where I was, I would have wagered those lines to be maybe two feet. Six feet is quite a length when standing still, but is merely a dot when we are flying by. Looking out my windshield, those dashes stretched on and on, marking my way home; looking behind they traced the path I had come. If I were to travel this same journey by foot I can be fairly certain that I'd measure my progress by those white lines; driving I measure by miles. Sometimes it takes a day to move six feet; others it is a mere thought that pushes us past that mark. How strange it is that even our points of reference change based on our speed through life.
