The Long Way Home

For years, I drove the fastest route home from work: highway, exit, highway, home. Twenty-two minutes.

This spring I started taking the long way. It adds eleven minutes. It goes past a horse farm, a little white church, a field of cows that always seem to be looking at something interesting, and a roadside stand that sells strawberries in June and pumpkins in October.

I roll the windows down. I play music I sang along to in high school. I wave at the farmer on his tractor, who now waves back.

Eleven minutes is nothing. But it turned the end of my workday into something I look forward to instead of something I get through. Best decision I've made in years, and it cost me nothing but a little time.