The Race Track
As a kid I used to love visiting the race tracks. I enjoyed watching cars go round and round, constantly changing positions, trading out worn tires; the constant hustle and bustle. These drivers had captured my heart and I wanted, more than anything to be part of them. But I was too young; I could only watch. Week in week out, I was right there. Watching the drivers doing their thing. I thought to myself ‘I’m gonna make one hell of a driver, just you wait.’ And the urge grew stronger and stronger as years passed by; fiddling my fingers waiting for my chance at a steering wheel.
Then the time came. I became a licensed driver and was eligible to take on the race tracks. And that’s when I realized it. I had become so accustomed to the side lines that it had become my home without realizing it. It was the only place that had no direct impact on what happened in the race tracks. ‘Must I get behind the wheel?’ ‘Whats wrong with being here?’ ‘More than ok is ideal, but isn’t ok still okay?’ ‘Must I join the race?’
For so long I had wanted to race, to put my mark down, to smash the records, to be the one seizing the checkered flag. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I like the sidelines; I’m more at home here. No doubt at some point I will have to race, but for now let me watch on.
I like it here.