Daniel Conderman 
This weekend I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in a long time—just driving around. Nothing fancy, no destination, just cruising through old roads, soaking in the world as it is now.
It hit me hard how much time has passed since I was last really “in it.” Life, I mean. The full rhythm of it. There was a stretch of years where I was more or less out of the loop. Focused inward. Taking care of some personal things. And while I was figuring that stuff out, the world didn’t wait around.
Now, coming back with clearer eyes, it feels like stepping out of a time capsule. Everything’s shifted.
You hear about changes. People mention how this store closed or that building went up. You might even browse Google Maps and think you’ve got the gist. But it’s not the same. You have to see it. Feel the weight of it. The places you remember have changed—not always in bad ways, but in surprising ones. That quiet field? It’s a warehouse now. The small-town charm? Sometimes buried under boat storage, trailers, and plastic siding.
And everyday life? Whole new rules. I pulled into a fast food spot and realized they wanted me to order from my phone—while I was already there. I’m parked in front of a screen, but I’m supposed to look at another screen? It’s like the world got so clever it looped around and started missing the point.
But still… there’s joy in the drive. The roads still wind, the sky still opens up over the hills, and sometimes a familiar curve feels like shaking hands with an old friend.
I don’t mind that the world moved on. I’m just learning to move with it again—one drive at a time.
