Antsy

Heading home from Washington D.C. one summer, my wife suggested we visit Monticello, home of Thomas Jefferson, our nation’s third president and author of the Declaration of Independence.

I told her maybe next time.

As we rolled into Tennessee, she wanted us to detour through the Smoky Mountains. I relented, pouting the whole way.

They say getting there is half the fun. I say getting and staying there is all the fun.

When I’m staring at a long drive at the end of a trip, I turn grumpy.

Pack the bags. Load the car. Hug the friends and family.

It’s time to go.

My lack of patience is a weakness, one I’ve perfected through decades of practice. It’s too late to change.

Besides, if home were so bad, we wouldn’t enjoy returning.

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