Yesterday, I drove for nine hours
without feeling tired.
The next day,
I wasn’t planning to drive again.
But I got a call from the bank.
It was right before a long holiday.
Train tickets were already sold out.
So I drove.
This time, alone.
I played upbeat music
and drove along the wide-open highway.
The mountains stretched far away
beneath the blue sky.
The open view
made me feel lighter.
The music was lively and loud.
But somehow—
It felt quieter.
A little less interesting.
I thought
it might be nice to stop at a rest area for a while.
A Quiet Rest Stop
As I parked the car,
a man beside me caught my attention.
He had just stepped out of his car
and was quietly taking photos of the sky.
Then he walked toward his son,
who was already far ahead,
walking toward the shops.
I stepped out too.
And stood
where the man had been standing.
I looked up.
Ah—
the sky stretched beautifully overhead.
So I took out my phone
and took a photo too.
Just then,
far across the sky,
a fighter jet passed
with a faint rushing sound.
Ah…
Maybe that’s what he had been trying to catch.
In my photo,
the jet looked no bigger
than a tiny dot.
Suddenly,
I felt lighter.
I looked around.
Where should I eat
the rice ball I had packed from home?
There were empty seats
near the busy walkway.
I didn’t want to sit there.
Then I noticed a family
walking toward the trail area.
They were carrying food in their hands.
I slowly followed behind them
as they walked into the shade of the trees.
They sat on a quiet bench
beneath the trees.
Talking softly.
Eating what looked like boiled eggs.
I looked around for a moment,
then sat down
on a wide wooden platform
a little further away.
I looked up at the sky.
Between the green leaves
casting cool shade,
the blue sky looked clear.
I let out a slow breath,
took out my rice ball,
and ate quietly.
Today,
I hadn’t brought an ice pack.
So the rice ball wasn’t cold anymore.
But somehow,
that made it taste good too.
Nothing special.
But something had already changed.
A simple reset—
quietly happening
in the middle of the drive.
Sometimes, a drive changes
not because the road changes—
but because your attention does.
On the way back
After finishing at the bank,
I was tired.
And hungry.
So I stopped
at the first rest area on the highway.
I ate a hot bowl of Shin Ramyun
made by a robot.
Simple.
Warm.
It helped more than I expected.
I didn’t rush back to the car.
I walked around.
Took my time.
Actually—
I ended up just looking at cars.
Comparing sizes.
Designs.
SUVs parked next to mine.
I stayed there
for almost an hour.
Then I left.
And that’s when it started.
The traffic.
Completely unexpected.
Earlier,
the bank employee had said—
“Driving is really exhausting.
I just take the train.
But maybe it won’t be too bad
this afternoon.”
So I thought
the road would be fine.
It wasn’t.
Traffic
First gear.
Second.
Back to first.
Stop.
Go.
Stop again.
Over and over.
In a manual car,
this kind of traffic
can wear you down quickly.
So I made
a small shift.
Instead of fighting the traffic,
I moved into practice mode.
Practicing how to drive
my manual car smoothly
at low speed.
Gentle pressure
on the right foot.
Small movements.
Without jerking.
And slowly—
it became fun.
I didn’t blame myself
for staying too long earlier.
I didn’t think,
“I should have left sooner.”
I just stayed
with what was happening.
The traffic didn’t disappear.
But something inside the drive
had already changed.
Weekend Mode
At the second rest stop,
it was packed.
Cars everywhere.
No space.
But somehow,
a spot opened up
right as I needed it.
I parked.
My right leg felt heavy.
A little stiff.
That was new.
Ah…
Maybe driving almost like an automatic
wasn’t so comfortable after all.
Maybe because I drove
mostly without shifting much.
And then—
I started laughing.
Not because anything improved.
Not because the road cleared.
But because I saw it again.
A moment—
I walked.
Took photos.
Watched people.
They were also stepping out
of the traffic
in their own ways.
Near one of the shops,
small toy robots and animals
were moving around
with cheerful music.
Children stopped to watch for a moment.
But no one was really buying them.
One man leaned against
a long wooden bench,
stretching his body
like he was doing push-ups.
A woman was taking photos.
One family looked absorbed
in a basketball shooting game.
Another mother was laughing
with her young son
in front of a fortune-reading machine.
I used to try those too
when my kids were little.
Someone was simply standing still.
It felt like everyone
had quietly shifted
into their own weekend mode.
And somehow,
I was no longer thinking
about getting home quickly.
There was no rush anymore.
Just this moment.
After about an hour,
the traffic began to ease.
When I got back on the road,
I drove differently.
Even when it slowed down,
I kept a little distance
from the car ahead.
I didn’t rush forward
only to stop again.
I let the car move
in its own pace.
A driving rhythm.
Not something planned.
Not something forced.
Just something
I found
while moving.
The drive back
took almost twice as long.
But somehow—
it didn’t feel tiring.
It felt lighter.
Even a little fun.
Not because the road changed.
But because,
somewhere along the way—
I had shifted into
a different rhythm.
—
This is where it became clearer for me.
