Fast and slow.

The residential speed is 25 mph, but sometimes it is posted at 20. Other times 30.

The road I drive daily is 40 mph when I get on it, but is 30 a mile later. It stays 30 for a long time.

Highways around here are 55 mph. Freeways are 70. Expect when they’re 65. Or 60. Or 55, too!

When there’s construction, we slow down by 10 mph. Though I do find it curious when people go the exact same speed.

There are other speeds, posted or expected.

We go slower around curves, pedestrians, and cars pulled to the side of the road. And we often speed up to pass.

Speed is relative, of course.

But it is never really either/or. There is no fast or slow, but there is stop and go, I suppose.

When the culture seems to encourage us to drive as fast as possible, as often as possible, and for long as possible, because there is always someplace to be, it may be hard to remember how illogical it is. [This is a metaphor!]

Sometimes we need to be reminded of speed limits and different proverbial gears. That stops are always necessary. As are snacks.

So too is sightseeing. And gawking at sunsets. Runs in the woods and dips in the lake.

If we define life as driving as fast as possible, we’ll never stop. And we’ll never know if there are even roses to smell.