I was on my way back to Richmond this morning and traffic was fine until I got to the tunnel. Not what I expected since all the traffic reports said it was surprisingly clear to take the HRBT over the Monitor-Merrimac. But not the usual 3-mile backup either. This time, I was near the head of the line. I didn’t know what was going on, but it was a beautiful day. It felt new.

I’ve always admired the view driving over the HRBT; I just never got to stop to really soak it up. So I turned my engine off, grabbed my Amp, and I sat along the edge of the bridge. It was breathtaking — it was home. I looked to my left, then to my right at the long line of cars filled with aggravated drivers who wanted to just move. Then I looked out to the water and smirked at what they were missing.

A light, cool breeze; winter’s final efforts to stay another round. The sparkle of the sun’s rays tickling the crest of every little wave; spring’s graceful entrance. I looked up and around at the architectural marvel I was sitting on, and how it was planted so fittingly into the bottom of the bay. Listened to industrial sounds from the shipyards, seemingly in harmony with the gentle wind that caressed the water. I knew then that I was lucky. 

While I usually hate traffic, I was in the perfect time and place to stop. It gave me a chance to indulge in a part of my home that always went by so fast. Though I had things to do and places to be, at that moment, I had no control of anything, and it was awesome. I think people take it for granted when we get opportunities like that to pause for a while. We set out to move towards a destination, and we get so focused on the finish line that we disregard the beauty of the journey. That’s why I’m starting to recognize and appreciate the things that are out of my hands — the things that make more difference in life than the things we expect. I’m still not sure what every stop in life is meant for, but I am sure that it’s ok if things don’t move for a bit. And maybe more than ok. It’s necessary.