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Part 1.
Sometimes, when driving through construction late at night, I get the feeling that I'm a vehicle in a video game. The reflectors along the barriers and on the road in front of me create an unreal feeling to what I'm doing. I make myself realize that I'm not in a video game, that if I were to crash my car it would be very real. (I still have moments of dread and fear when I remember the accident I was in last December.) But, the driving offers a sense of detachment.
I've appreciated that time of detachment when it's meant that I'm coming home from work. I've really not appreciated it when it means I'm leaving people I'd rather spend more time with. The amount of driving certainly lends itself to compartmentalizing, only my compartments are far, far apart from one another. When I lived 1/2 a mile from work, it was necessary to work at separating work and play. Now it is already separate. I write this mostly to note it. I don't have a judgement of it - or rather, I have many judgements, but they seem to balance themselves out.
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Part 2.
When I'm on the bike path behind my house, I sometimes look ahead of me and think, "oh my, it looks like it's uphill for a little ways."
I pedal.
I make it just fine.
When I turn around, I feel no real effect of a downhill.
Sometimes, it is to difficult to judge what the path is like when I'm looking ahead into the horizon. It might seem to be uphill, but perhaps it's not. Or, perhaps, it is slightly, but not in a way that I can't make it.
When I look too far out, my judgement of what is to come is blurred - seeming more difficult than it actually is.
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Part 3.
Also on my bike.
I only notice the wind when I am having to fight against it. I have to consciously think about the fact that the wind is propelling me when it is at my back. Hello faith/life-metaphor.
