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Right before checking into an insane asylum, I hit the open road.
Some people meditate. Contort themselves into yoga pretzels and sailors’ knots in an effort to relieve stress.
Sanity, for me, is found in the silence behind the steering wheel.
Both my hands grip the wheel at 10 and 2, freeing my mind to wander into the dark corners of things I don’t want to and need to think about.
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