That big hole
I've got a little business trip coming up in a few months in Phoenix and I'm thinking, "Do I know anyone there?"

Tonight it was suggested that I rent a convertible and drive to the Grand Canyon once business is finished. On the surface this seems like a remarkably good idea. Below the surface, this seems like a remarkably good idea. We're talking sun; we're talking convertibles; we're talking wonders of the world. This is something I can totally get behind, but, and you knew there was a but, I don't know if I can do it.

What?!?, you're saying, but you're pretty adventurous. What about that wonders of the world talk?

And I know you can picture me cruisin' down the highway in a convertible, desert wind blowing through my thinning hair, Christie Brinkley pulling up along side in a Ferrari. I can picture it too and it looks pretty good.

But, and you knew I'd get to the but eventually, I made plans to go to the Grand Canyon with a girl. A girl? you say, p-shaw, you say.

It wasn't just any girl. I loved that girl. I loved that girl like no other. She made me crazy, and we never travelled particularly well together, and we haven't spoken in months, and it ended so long ago that it's supposed to really be ended by now, but if I do this, then it might really end.

It wasn't supposed to ever really end. It was supposed to be happily ever after and the craziness was supposed to take us places like the Grand Canyon, where we could rough it and be together and be ridiculously happy even when we were driving each other up the wall. Because we were together and together was more important than our differences of opinion. Together we were stronger, smarter, better. And even in the moments where we ended up weaker, dumber, and worse, we had each other and there was something beautiful and pure about that.

And maybe that's exactly why I should go. Or is it exactly why I shouldn't?