The Drive

Let me begin this entry by stating that I am originally from Houma, Louisiana. After graduating high school, I decided to attend Ringling College, despite the fact that the school is located 800 miles away from home. When I moved here to Sarasota, I drove the whole way in one go, which took 12 hours total. Time passed quickly for a while; I left early in the morning before the sun was up, so watching the sun rise and get higher in the sky over the course of a few hours was entertaining to see. There were also several sights and checkpoints to see along the way that made the drive more entertaining. First I got to New Orleans and drove through the city, then over Lake Pontchartrain, straight through Mississippi, into the city of Mobile, Alabama, through a long tunnel and over an even longer bridge, before finally arriving in Florida. Unfortunately, this is where the journey stopped being exciting and the passage of time seemed to slow down. The Florida landscape is pretty, but it gets old after a while, and there were still 7 hours in the car left to go. The Florida interstate does not have much scenery to offer, and after a while it began to get monotonous. I continued to drive for several hours, which felt even longer due to how boring the trip was starting to feel. Then, towards the end of the trip, the sun started to set; to make things complicated, I got lost. This made the trip more interesting; now, I had the goal of not only making it to Sarasota, but finding my way back to the main interstate in the dark while winding through the traffic of Tampa. The fear of being lost and so far from the safety of my home was like an adrenaline rush, and driving stopped being monotonous and became a challenge. I eventually made it onto Highway 41 and made it to Ringling’s campus. My perception of the passage of time over the 12-hour trip changed several times throughout the journey, speeding up during the exciting parts and slowing down during the monotonous parts. Altogether, reflecting on the trip gave me a good new perspective on the way I subconsciously perceive the passage of time.

First Trip

When I was eight years old, my family took a vacation to Williamsburg, Virginia. My parents were unusually interested in taking us on educational vacations, so instead of Disney World we traveled to an old town where we learned about the Revolutionary War. To be completely honest, I do not remember too much from that trip, apart from the first day, which I remember vividly. Unfortunately, what I do remember is not educational at all, and is actually quite gross.

            We arrived at the motel we would be staying at after eating lunch at a Cracker Barrel and a long ride in the car. It was a mom-and-pop type place; the friendly old man that checked us in walked us to our room and was very welcoming. He struck up a conversation with my father, and of course I don’t remember what they were talking about but I like to pretend he was saying something along the lines of, “Now don’t make a mess, kids!” for the sake of irony. Before the nice, old man could finish his sentence, I threw up at the front door. The vomit covered the entire welcome mat and even touched the bottom of the door. The cheerful, excited atmosphere the group had was destroyed in a second. At first, no one said a word until my mother began apologizing to the owner profusely.  The man assumed an attitude and told her that she had to clean it up, then left dramatically. My dad opened the door and helped my brothers jump over the pool of vomit and into the motel room; my mom just grumbled to herself and tried to comfort me. The vacation had not even started and I felt like I had already ruined it. According to my mother, I did not ruin the vacation; however, the stomach virus that had caused me to vomit so suddenly turned out to be highly contagious. My mom and I spent the next few nights of the trip sick in bed, and my dad and brothers all got sick after the vacation when we got back home. Aside from all of that, the vacation was probably very successful and educational; however, learning about the original 13 colonies and the Revolutionary War is only something I can remember through photographs. My personal experience in Virginia, the one that stuck with me for all my life, was probably not what my parents were going for.