It all begins to fall away, these days, the longing and the difficulty, the nostalgias for old pain. I drive these desolate roads alone, content, the sky turning unimaginable shades fading to black. My headlights illuminate only a short stretch ahead of me, and I see even less far when someone is near. I switch to the low beams.

It all begins to fall away, and I wonder at the adages about bringing yourself with you wherever you go. It used to be that I would come to with a start around the fire, desert stars by the trillion above me, as if awaking to joyous real life once more, and all the commutes and meetings, all the tedium and trappings of my urban life mere dreamtime.

I am awake now and hope to stay that way.

A spark up ahead in the fringes of my headlights: a cottontail makes a dash across the road, well in advance of my passing.

I am content these days, I am happy, and the loneliness I felt at first on arriving here generally passes as soon as I turn off the telephone. This is the life I craved, mine after only half a century of waiting for someone to hand it to me, mine after I stopped waiting and took it. I am no longer living my dream. This is my life, at last.