When I came back from a trip to the Finger Lakes, I had a bit of a revelation. For those who don’t know, the Finger Lakes are in New York state, not far from the Canadian border. The area is known for 5 large lakes that are spaced out like fingers, hence the name 😉 Five short hours of travel and I could have been on the moon for how different it is from where I live. Farm after farm, field after field, winery after winery oh and a few towns here and there in between vast fields of corn, alfalfa and cows.
Life is different in them, there parts. The first thing I noticed was that these people actually obeyed the speed limit. We went from 55 to 40 to 25 to 30 to 55 on roads of constant changing limits. When the limit was 30 everyone went 30. I didn’t even know the car could go 25. It was something I was not used to. At home, when the speed limit is 25 people go 40 and where its 55, it’s not unusual to have people passing you when you are driving 70 (not that I would ever think of driving that fast).
Hmmm, no one is in a hurry. This was a hard concept to grasp, at first. Even though we were on vacation, it was hard to slow down from the everyday pace that we are used to.
Did I mention the large Amish population? You know those diamond shape yellow road signs that we see every day? They had ones posted that had a horse and carriage on it. And it was actually something that you saw pretty often. People on a highway would come to a crawl because there was a horse and buggy riding down the road. And do you know what? No one honked horns, no one passed if it was a no passing zone and no one seemed frustrated. What a concept!
By the end of the week, I was driving the speed limit. I was content to crawl behind a horse and buggy. I looked around at the farms, fields, lakes, boats and the sunsets. I wasn’t frustrated, I wasn’t in a hurry, I wasn’t stressed and I wasn’t angry. And then it was time to come home.
When I got back home, I was immediately impatient. I was back to speeding, feeling road rage and having to get where ever it was I was going in a hurry. I was back to hordes of traffic, people honking, yelling, flipping the bird and back to being a slave to the grind and not making what I need to live.
Why did 300 miles make such a difference in lifestyle and why did I have to come back. The first week home was unbearable. I just wanted to go back. I missed the feeling of not hurrying for everything. My traveling companion mentioned that in 7 days she didn’t swear one time. She came back and the F words were flying. I was glad that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
What was my revelation? I don’t want to live here forever. I really hope that I can retire somewhere slower paced, somewhere where I can enjoy the scenery, breath and drive the speed limit even if I am surrounded by cows and alfalfa.