A whole lot of nothing, where you are still aware that your Honda is careening down a highway at 80 mph, and if you hit something you will get very injured. Plus, I am alone on the road. So it’s this dull, placid, bucolic, slightly terrifying focus, driving here.

The periphery of the I-5 is far more beautiful than I think people give it credit for. Not for what it has, but for what it has not. The hills roll gently, plants and trees grow gently. Cows! Outside of the occasional political sign, there’s really nothing breaking up the rather featureless scenery. It’s like a Bob Ross canvas, colors blending into each other, the occasional highlight, the Van Dyke Brown, Indian Yellow, Phthalo Blue (use just the teeniest bit).

And driving here, the only thing left is you. Where are you in this world. It’s like Genesis, right?  But the Lord called, “Where are you?’” Where will you place yourself, put yourself. And the weird thing is, rather than the generalities that come forward–it’s the details. Not “queer or not, we are all human”–but its opposite.

Human or not, I am queer. Trans. I am Asian. I am Japanese. I lost family in Fukushima. My car is green. I like donuts. I don’t know how to make love last. I wish I did not have to pee so often. I really like my hair. My pinky hurts.

As Bible God would say, “Where are you?” As Bob Ross would say “This is your world.”

Where am I, in my world?  What would I say–if I had to do it over again. Me, with all of my aches and poems and closet of clothes I do not wear enough. In love with someone I cannot love? What would I say? Have I really travelled so much? How do I go forward in my world?

So I miss the exit. Not that it really matters. I think I need more time here, with myself, on the highway, in my world, wondering where exactly I am.