Confession time: my weekend trip to see my sister in NYC involved a distinct lack of geographical prowess on my part.

 I took the highway, as one does, a rainy four-hour slog punctuated by a lovely phone call with a friend. 

But somewhere in the nebulous land of NJ just outside the city, my focus evaporated faster than a puddle in July. My Adderall wore off and I was toast. 

 Apparently, chatting and navigating don’t mix for me, because I proceeded to miss my exit. 

Twice. 

Cue the cuss words, extra tolls and a bonus half-hour tacked onto the journey, all thanks to my inability to locate the correct effin’ off-ramp.

 Lesson learned: highways may be direct, but my brain apparently prefers scenic routes, even if unplanned and toll-booth-laden.

Then came Sunday. 

I emerged from my sister’s apartment, and it was the kind of late spring day that makes you believe in magic. The sky was a ridiculous, unapologetic blue, a gentle breeze kissed my face, and the sun felt like a warm, welcoming hand. 

IT FINALLY STOPPED RAINING!!! 

I sat in my car and thought, “This day deserves more than four hours of asphalt hypnosis.” 

This day deserved to be savored.

 It deserved winding back roads and sleepy little towns. It deserved rusted bridges whispering tales of bygone eras and the unexpected pause for a family of ducks waddling across the road. It deserved the slow way home.

So, I tapped a few buttons on my GPS – the ones that gleefully shout “Avoid Highways!” – and set off.

 Rockland County unfurled its quiet charm, followed by the surprisingly lovely landscapes of New Jersey.

New Jersey is actually beautiful! Who knew?!? 

And then, in the wilds of back-roads NJ, disaster (of the minor, slightly comical variety) struck. 

My roommate’s kayak [long story], perched precariously on the roof of my car and tied down with ratchet straps, decided it was time for a wardrobe change and began to slip. So I pulled over in the first lot I could find, which happened to be a UU church! 

Bless the two kind souls from the Skylands congregation who happened to be at the building after service. 

They spotted my flailing attempts at re-positioning and came to my rescue, expertly adjusting the kayak blocks and straps.  It was a lovely moment of kismet, a wink from the universe that I’d taken exactly the right roads home. 

 Central Pennsylvania welcomed me back with its familiar patchwork of woods and fields.

 I passed Amish families in their buggies, heading home from what I imagined was a peaceful Sunday service. I waved at kids playing tag in their yards, their laughter carried on the breeze. 

The journey ended up taking six glorious hours instead of four. But you know what? It felt shorter. 

Infinitely shorter. 

The beauty and unexpected adventures along the way had stretched time in the best possible way.

Why choose the long way home and “waste” all that time driving?

 Well, a couple of reasons have been percolating.

Unsurprisingly, one involves a Carrie Newcomer song. This time, it’s “Take More Time and Cover Less Ground.” The bridge has been playing on a loop in my spirit lately:

Now in the season of come on home

 Slowing my life to the speed of my soul 

Now when the reason’s been never so clear 

At the end of a hard but holy year 

Time to pick it all up and to lay it back down 

Time to know what I seek has already been found 

Time to listen for what never made a sound 

Time to take more time and cover less ground

For nearly four years, I’ve been juggling my day job, my ministry work, raising kids, managing chronic illness and disabilities, and… well, you get the picture.

 It’s been a marathon, or maybe one of those ultra-marathons where you question your sanity. 

This summer, I’m intentionally, consciously, taking ten weeks off from ministry, and nearly a month off from my day job, parenting, etc, and slowing my roll back to the “speed of my soul.” 

Sunday was June 1st, my first official day not being the fill-in minister for UUCV. 

Taking the slow way home felt like the perfect inaugural act of this new season – a symbolic unwinding.

I’m a sucker for symbolism.

 And Ritual. 

This drive home felt like both. 

The other reason I’m drawn to the back roads, and to driving in general, is the delicious taste of freedom and adventure it offers. 

Back in the 80s, I had the run of my town. Me and my dog, exploring every street, alley, climbing tree, and secret hideout until the street lights flickered on, signaling the curfew. 

As a teen, there was Dusty, a horse at the summer camp where I worked. We’d spend hours wandering through the woods, no marked trails, just pure, unadulterated exploration. It was the 90s – no GPS, just a compass and a decent sense of direction. Gloriously liberating.

 Even living in the city, I’d hop on random buses just to see where they’d lead.

Now, living in a body that doesn’t always play ball with spontaneous physical adventures, driving – especially the “ooh, where does this road go?” kind – gives me back that spark. It’s a way to reclaim that feeling of discovery, of charting my own course, even if it’s just for an afternoon.

So yes, it took me six and a half hours to get home from New York.

 And it was worth every single unhurried minute.

 The shimmering lakes, the deep green forests, the charm of small towns, finding a classic car-hop style ice cream place that (hallelujah!) had lactose-free vanilla AND gluten-free cones, even my humorous encounter with the perhaps-less-than-spiritually-enlightened Amish gentleman who offered me a one-fingered salute for attempting to pass his buggy (a reminder that humanity is wonderfully complex) all fed my soul as I soaked in the wonder of being alive on this planet.

It was a potent reminder that there’s often so much more to see, to feel, to experience, if we just allow ourselves to slow down and take the proverbial scenic route – not just on a road trip, but in our interactions with each other, with the world, and with our own unfolding lives. 

Maybe it’s time we all took a little more time to cover a little less ground. You might be surprised by what you find when you’re not rushing to get there.