I flip on my blinker, merely an obligatory gesture as it barely has time to flash before I’ve passed the inconsiderate lout going too slow in the fast lane. Around me, jet-setters and go-getters pound on similar steering wheels, racing the demons of deadlines and pressure to small offices built on platforms made of dreams. A Bluetooth in one ear, an Ipod earpiece in the other, they’re undecided whether to fight back or just give in to the screaming minions of a thousand influences. Bosses to obey, children to feed, payments to make, and appearances to keep press hard on the backs of those who rush to fulfill an unidentified goal, a mere murky outline of a dream yet to take form.

 I am among them, my youth a difference, but not a hindrance. The forces of passing time are unbiased in whom they drag along. In accordance with time’s siren song, I slip my Yaris in line behind a speeding Nissan, just beyond the reach of an all business Jaguar about to become airborne. A planner at my side, I’m running on a similar treadmill, through things to do and appointments to keep. Jotting mental notes, I ease on the gas as Little Boy Blue comes into view, waiting on his gasoline pony for the less observant ones of our crew.

 Still the miles slide away beneath my tires, each marker another reminder of unproductive time not marked by red numbers on a timecard. Each moment spent in transit is another not earning pay, another step closer to red lines in my checkbook. I rush and run, the precious minutes of my life flashing by in a deafening roar…

And I’m too late for the realization that I’ve forgotten exactly what I’m rushing for