I have searched for a fun quote to start this post to no avail. As it’s late, I’m going to move on.

It is hot in Maine right now. The high was 92 when I got to work at 1:00. It only got hotter as the day went on. Everyone seemed wilted today. Nice. Kind. But wilted. Like they needed a glass of sweetened iced tea, and sit in the shade of an oak tree.

It’s grown hotter each day over the past week. Little to no rain. Just relentless sunshine.

This is not unusual for me.

I grew up with this weather.

Hot nights in high school, lying in my metal frame bed, with a foam cushion for a mattress, lying in front of the box fan in front of the window at the foot of the bed.

I would lie there for hours wishing to find sleep.

Always to no avail.

There was no blanket on my bed. The sheet was draped over me from the waist down and stuck to me like baby to its mother.

I would look out into the night. Occasionally a train would pass by. I could hear the horn as it approached out small town. I would feel the room shake as it moved through, car after car. Many days I would stand by the tracks and count the cars as they flew by. One. Two. Ten. Forty-five. Eventually the caboose would pass by. I always liked the caboose. I had a 45 record when I was 4 called the The Little Red Caboose. I would listen to it over and over on my little blue record player.

As I watched out the window, I would dream of the man I’d become. The future in front of me. At 15 the world seemed endless, hopeless, and full of life all at the same time. I knew little of what was out in the world past our BIG city of 350 people.

As I grew older, I always appreciated the late nights full of humidity and warmth. They were a time for me to think. Dream. Scheme. And Plan .

I would get into my little blue Nissan Sentra, with no A/C and I’d go for drives.

First in Kansas City, where I’d moved for a few months after college.

Then in Atlanta where I moved a six months later.

On these nights, the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I would get in my car. I would always stop for gas, and then I’d get lost in my thoughts.

I’d drive thru neighborhoods that were familiar to me. I’d sometimes find myself in the chaos of midtown Atlanta at 3:00 in the morning, wandering street after street. Looking at the architecture. The scope of the city. I’d ALWAYS drive to downtown from the north so that I could see the skyline.

I would pinch myself and say this is not a CITY of 350 people. I had escaped. I’d gotten out. I had no idea what was in store for me in six months, six years, six decades, but I was not in small town Kentucky.

Anytime in my adult life, when I’ve lived somewhere warm, even years later, when I could afford a real car, with air conditioning, I’d sometimes get into my car, roll the windows down, put my arm out in the night air, with the radio off and get lost in my thoughts.

Many nights while doing this I solved the climate crisis, brought peace to the Middle East, and figured out what next to do with my life.

Eventually, I moved to a place where I didn’t need a car. NYC. A CITY of 8 million people. About as far as I could get from my CITY of 350 people.

I never realized before I moved there that the northern city of NYC could compare when it came to heat and humidity in the south. It took about 30 days into my first summer to realize it was different.

In NYC you can see the heat rising from the pavement of the sidewalk. You can smell the heat in the smell of hotdogs and pretzels cooking at a street cart. The smell of garbage as you passed down a busy side street. The overwhelming stench of piss that emanated from everywhere. Years later, I’d always know I was home when I got my first whiff of piss on the subway platform.

I no longer had a car, but I embraced the night. In the late 1990s, and early 2000’s I lived in the Financial District. Many a night I’d walk from a night at the theater, 50 or 60 blocks.

I go out with friends and wander home buzzed, enjoying the heat that sizzled from the sidewalk.

About 4 weeks into my first summer when I lived there I found myself in the square created by the World Trade Centers at 3:00 in the morning. I sat on a bench and took in my surroundings.

I sat there as a gentle breeze moved the warm air. There was no one in sight. Just me and what I’d eventually refer to as my mountain range. The tallest buildings in NYC.

Peace. Quiet. No different than if you were sitting at the base of the Rockies.

So many nights I sat there lost in thought.

When I left NYC to move north, I moved to an area without humidity. Without heat. I truly had escaped my hometown.

But Mother Nature has a way of reminding you of things.

And over the past week, the humidity has moved in. The heat has is here and increasing daily.

When I walked out of work tonight at 11:45, the air was Kentucky, Atlanta, NYC air. Thick. Heavy. Hot.

I got into my car and started it. The A/C was blowing from my trip to work 10.5 hours earlier. The music was blasting.

I turned both off, and I sat there.

I rolled down my window. In this case it was a literal rolling as I have crank windows in my little car.

I sat there and listened. It was so quiet.

I punch the GPS to take me home. After years of working in my little tourist town, I know the way home. But I like to know exactly when I will get there. To the minute. It’s also a 15 year old Garmin that I use. My staff makes fun of me. My boyfriend makes fun of me. My boss makes fun of me. I don’t care. I’m almost 60, get off my lawn and don’t tell me what to do.

I put the car in reverse and back out of my parking spot.

I drive to the end of the parking lot, go left and approach the road. I turn left. The GPS guiding me along the way.

The window is still down. My hand is waving in the air as I drive. I get to the police station and without thinking instead of turning right as I should, I go straight.

I drive. And I drive. Window down. Music off. Lost in thought.

I drive through the center of the little town where I work. Its midnight and there are a fair number of people moving about.

I drive straight, through the traffic light, on a country road, that is a short cut to the Route 1.

I drive. Obeying the speed limit. 35. 45. 25. 35 again.

Eventually I come to the end of the road. I turn right, headed back to another little town.

It’s now a little past midnight.

For the next hour, I drive, slowly toward home.

For the first time in what seems like weeks, I’m not thinking about what I need to do next.

I’m not thinking about all the things I forgot to do at work today.

I’m not thinking about the things I have to do when I get home. The bills I have to pay. The plants I have to water. The litter I have to scoop.

I drive. Back roads, watching the lights pass by.

Sometime it’s my elbow in the window; sometimes I do that thing where your hand waves up and down.

I come to a McDonald’s. I stop for a Soda Water. $1.08. It takes longer than I’d like but I’m in no hurry.

Eventually I stop for gas, not because I need it, but it’s the old habit coming through.

I wind my way down Route 1 toward the bigger town near me.

Just before I’d turn right to go home, I get on the highway. Window still down, arm still out the window and music still off.

I get off the highway and turn left. I drive by our friend’s house that have just put up a fence. It looks great.

I drive into town. I turn, drive, I turn, I drive. I eventually find myself on Commercial Street.

It’s now after 1:00.

It’s time to go home. ]

At this point I’m worried Adam will be worried about me as I didn’t text him to tell him I’d be late.

Our bedroom light is off when I get home.

I get out of the car and for the first time, since I left work, I realize how hot it really is. I’m covered in sweat. My forehead is beaded. I’m thirsty. I’m tired.

I really spent the time lost in thought. As I drove the last three miles home I thought, I should write about this.

And here it is.

This is the first time I’ve done this kind of drive in years.

It’s never hot NOR humid enough in Maine.

When I left work the thermometer on my card read 86. It moved to 93 on the highway, inland away from the coast. I changed often. 86. 91. 95. 88. 86. When I got home it was 82. The coolest I’d seen all night.

I’m exhausted at this point.

But at peace. And calm.

My mind has been turned off of the daily stuff and hyper focused on this post.

For an hour and a half tonight, I was in Kentucky. A 14 year old boy lost in thought as he looked through the fan at the night. I was a 22 year old young adult driving a Nissan Sentra in Atlanta. I was 26 design student driving around the backroads of Kentucy, in my jeepy thing. I was 30 year old teacher driving around Cincinnati, wondering around downtown. I was a 35 year old corporate employe, lost in thought at The World Trade Center. I was 40 year grad student driving home in San Diego.

And I realized as I drove, that my life isn’t perfect.

Far from perfect.

But I’m happy.

I love my boyfriend more and more every day.

I love my job more and more every day.

I’ve found a way to coach my staff that doesn’t cause me stress.

I love my cats.

I love my home.

I love my life.

I knew that before tonight.

But I was reminded of it tonight.

Be well.

It’s approaching 3:30 a.m. I’ve read thru this once, please excuse anything that I missed as far as typos and grammar. I’ll fix it in 10 years when I retire.